I 


s#  3*ji>  ^ 
\ji  J&}  >/j, 

ii5  vki^4*  ^JL>, 


EXTRA  SERIES. 


Itacp^comracto  onr  powers;    ^or  tl,c  r^ole  bonnblcss  continent  is  onro." 


!  3ET. 


~OLUME    II. 


27,28. 


NEW- YORK,  OCTOBER,  1842. 


Nl  MB! 


Original  American  Jftroel. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1842, 

BY  PARK  BENJAMIN', 
In  the   Clerk's   Office  of  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


THE 


WESTERN    CAPTIVE; 

OR, 

THE    TIMES    OF    TECUMSEH. 

BY  TH. 


"  Hearing  olieiv'.imes 
The  still,  sad  music  of  humanity." — WORDSWORTH. 


TO    THOSE    OF    HER   SEX, 

THE    DESIRE    FOR     UTTERANCE,    OS.     THE    NECESSITIES    OF     LIFE 
HAVE  CALLED  FROM  THE  SANCTITY  OF  WOMANLY  SECLUSION, 
THESE  PAGES  ARE  RESPECTFULLY  INSCRIBED  BY 
THE    AUTHOR. 

CHAPTER  I.-FREEDOM. 

"  Thy  birth-right  was  not  given  by  human  hands  : 
Thou  wert  twin-bora  with  man.    In  pleasant  fields  , 
While  yet  our  race  was  few,  thou  satt'st  with  him, 
To  tend  the  quiet  flock  and  watch  the  stars."  BRYANT. 

THE  greatness  of  an  enterprise  is  to  be  tested,  not  by  the  splendor 
of  its  achievment,  but  by  the  magnitude  of  difficulties  overcome  in 
its  conception.  Patriots  have  struggled  and  fallen,  having  accom 
plished  nothing,  it  may  be,  in  their  career,  except  to  add  one  more  im 
pulsive  throb  to  the  great  beating  of  the  universal  heart  for  freedom — 
yet  time  may  fail  to  reveal  how  essential  was  that  one  throb  to  tlx- 
high  interests  of  humanity.  We  may  deplore  the  fate  of  the  indivi 
dual,  at  the  same  time  that  we  rejoice  for  man.  History  is  full  o! 
illustration — slowly  but  surely  is  the  race  advancing  to  a  goal  wherr 
the  chain  shall  of  itself  fdll  from  the  free  limb  ;  and  the  eye,  wander 
ing  backward  through  the  long  vista  of  despotism  and  revolution, 
shall  behold  how  strong  men  were  stricken  in  the  race,  that  tin  y 
might  become  heralds  and  guide-marks  for  others.  Such  was  the 
Fate  of  Tecumseh — doomed,  not  to  realize  the  high  designs  he  had 
conceived,  but  to  add  one  more  to  the  list  of  those  who  have  labon  d 
for  the  enfranchisement  of  a  people,  and  to  prove  that,  in  every  grade 
of  society,  the  yearnings  of  the  heart  are  still  for  freedom;  and  th  .1 
the  first  and  great  principles  of  legislation  hare  their  elements  in  thr 
mind  itself;  and  the ra fore,  the  untutored  savage  being  nearer  the1 
threshold  of  truth,  may  be  better  able  to  expound  her  doctrine*, 
than  the  statesman,  enveloped  by  custom  and  thev  hu&e,  intricacits 
of  government.  9;>5 


Tecumseh  beheld  with  dismay  the  encroachment  of  t-, 
man  upon  the  aoil  of  his  people,  and  saw  that  their  system  »f  pur 
chase,  as  it  was  called,  would  soon  leave  them  scarce  a  place  for 
burial,  while  the  infusion  of  rice  among  a  primitive  people  was  ra 
pidly  sealing  their  destruction.  Thence,  his  active  and  powerful 
mind  conceived  the  vast  plan  of  union  and  peace  between  those 
western  tribes,  occupying  the  great  valley  of  the  Mississippi.  He 
proposed  consolidating  them  into  one  grand  confederation,  oae  of 
the  principle  articles  of  which  should  be,  the  non-barteriag  of  their 
lands.  Vast  as  was  the  design,  it  scarcely  exceeded  the  personal 
sacrifices  and  hazirds  necessary  to  put  it  in  execution. 

At  the  period  of  the  Council  of  Fort  Wayne,  in  which  several  of 
;  the  tribes  ceded  their  lands  to  our  Government  under  the  agency  of 
General  Harrison,  Tecumseh  was  absent  upon  a  minion  in  the 
!'  southern  tribes,  that  he  might  obtain  their  assent  to  the  terms  of  the 
league,  which  had  already  been  obtained  from  all  their  northern 
brethren. 

The  ceding  of  lands,  therefore,  at  the  Council  of  Wayne,  was  is 
violation  of   a    solemn    pledge,    and  was   thence  not    binding  in 
itself,  but  also  exposed  the  recreant  leaders  to  the  vengeance  of  the 
remaining  tribes.     The  followers  of  Tecumseh  and  of  El;skwatawa, 
"  the  open  door,"  or,  as  he  is  most  commonly  called,  "  The  Pro- 
phet,"  remained  at  their  town  upon  the  T:ppecanoe,  gloomy  and 
inactive,  waiting  the  return  of  the  great  chief  from  his  southern  cru 
sade.     They  held  little  communication  with  the  chiefs  of  the  seced 
ing  tribes,  regarding  them  as  traitors  to  the  common  cause,  and  un 
worthy  to  partake  of  the  high  destiny  reserved,  even  now,  degene 
rate  and  weakened  as  they  were,  for  the  proud  and  independent 
children  of  the  woods.     They  waited  impatiently  the  return  of  that 
remarkable  man,  who  united  in  his  own  person  the  bravery  and  skill 
of  an  accomplished  warrior,  the  far-seeing  and  truth-discerning  spirit 
of  a  reformer,  with  the  power  and  persuasive  eloquence  of  the  orator. 
The  chiefs  of  the  several  tribes  had  bound  themselves  by  solemn 
vews  and  severe  penalties,  never  to  part  with  a  foot  of  their  land  to 
the  white  man,  to  resume  as  far  as  possible  the  primitive  habits  of 
their  people,  and  thus  to  throw  off  their  yoke  of  dependence  upon 
the  white  intruders.     All  the  trrwia  'bordering  upon  the  great  Inke* 
of  the  north,  those  upon  the  Mit^pppi  and  its  noble  tributaries, 
even  to  the  wilderness  of  the  far  west,  had  bound  themselves  by  « 
like  oath  ;  and  now  the  eloquent  warrior  was  preaching.hi*  crusa«fe 
at  the  south,  confident  of  returning  with  a  like  pledge  from  those 
distant  and  excitable  people.     Skilful  were  the  weapons  to  be  used, 
and  persuasive  the  tongue  which  was  to  give  utterance  to  the  con 
ceptions  of  a  great  mind,  about  to  realize  the  hopes  and  expectations 
nf  a  patriotism,  pure  and  engrossing,  as  ever  swayed  the  besom  of  a 
Roman  in  the  proudest  days  of  her  freedom.     He  could  not  fail  of 
success,  for  he  was  a  Shawanee,  and  endowed  with  even  more  than 
the  ordinary  share  of  the  hardihood  and  talent  belonging  to  that  ex 
traordinary  people.     He  could  bring  up  the  traditions  of  their  old 
men,  when  the  Shawanee  dwelt  upon  the  beautiful  savannas  of  the 
south,  and  hunted  game  where  the  wild  grape  hung  in  festoons  upon 
the  palmetto,  and  the  moss  waved  solemnly  in  the  wind,  as  if  a  gray 


THE    NEW    WORLD. 


THE  WESTERN 


pall  were  hung  upon  the  forest,  aad  the  white  magnolia  perfumed 
the  air  with  its  blossoms.  He  could  tell  of  his  mother,  who  was  a 
Cherokee,  and  of  the  wondrous  circumstances  of  his  own  birth. 
How  every  night,  when  his  mother  lay  down  to  rest,  a  manitou,  in 
the  shape  of  a  massasauga,*  glided  to  the  cabin  door  and  slept  be 
side  her  skins ;  and  how  the  manitou  disappeared  only  when  the 
young  mother  lay  dead  within  her  wigwam,  and  three  sons  in  their 
helplessness  beside  her,  thereby  pointing  plainly  to  the  great  union  of 
the  tribes — the  brotherhood  of  the  north,  the  south,  and  the  west. 

The  boys  grew,  in  their  solitariness,  strong  and  beautiful ;  "  the  sun 
their  father,  the  earth  their  mother,  and  they  reposed  upon  her  bo 
som."  The  Great  Spirit  talked  with  them  in  the  strong  wind  that 
shook  the  forest,  in  the  stillness  of  the  midnight  stars,  and  in  the 
soft  dews  of  the  morning.  He  taught  them  to  regard  all  the  red  men 
as  brothers.  The  Great  Spirit  had,  in  his  displeasure,  permitted  the 
whites  to  wrest  from  them  a  part  of  their  land,  but  now  he  warned 
them  to  unite — to  forget  all  animosities  among  themselves,  and  com 
bine  in  one  grand  effort  to  keep  the  whites  east  of  that  high  ridge 
which  he  had  raised  to  guard  the  tributaries  of  the  Mississippi.  He 
•would  have  the  tribes  become  one,  to  guard  sacredly  the  old  hunting- 
grounds  of  their  people,  the  graves  of  their  fathers,  and  the  ancient 
stones  of  their  council-fires.  He  would  crowd  back  the  whites  to 
the  south  and  east  of  the  Ohio,  and  the  Alleghanies,  or  the  time 
would  come  wken  the  retreating  tribes  would  stand  upon  the  shores 
of  the  great  waters  that  receive  the  setting  sun,  and  there  fight  oaly 
to  perish  in  its  bosom. 

The  tribes  met  in  solemn  council,  and  the  pledge  that  was  to  bind 
in  one  great  confederation  all  the  tribes  of  the  north,  the  south,  and 
the  west,  was  given  in  the  midst  of  solemn  and  mysterious  rites  ; 
and  from  henceforth  the  Indian  should  dwell  securely  in  his  wigwam 
— should  traverse  the  deep  forest,  bound  over  the  wide  prairie,  and 
launch  his  canoe  upon  the  noble  stream  of  the  west,  and  the  white 
man  no  more  should  molest  or  make  him  afraid.  The  tomahawk 
should  rest  in  the  earth,  or  be  dug  up  only  to  repel  aggression.  The 
white  man  should  dwell  in  peace  beyond  the  mountains,  but  only 
there — should  his  steps  encroach  upon  the  soil  they  were  now 
pledged  to  defend,  in  whatsoever  point,  it  should  be  common  cause 
with  the  tribes;  all  holding  themselves  in  readiness  to  resent  the 
injury,  to  drive  back  the  intruder,  and  preserve  undivided  the  heri 
tage  of  the  tribes.  They  were  now  to  be  one.  One  in  peace,  one 
in  war.  Tribe  should  no  more  war  with  tribe,  for  they  were  all 
brethren. 

The  great  mission  was  accamplished.  Wherever  the  skilful  ora 
tor  appeared,  his  earnestness  and  address  had  won  him  the  hearing 
and  the  assent  of  his  people  ;  for  where  was  truth  ever  presented  in 
its  purity  and  sincerity,  without  hearts  to  respond  to  its  utterance  1 
They  had  listened  te  his  teaching,  as  to  the  communications  of  an 
invisible  spirit,  whose  eye  beheld  the  past  and  the  future.  The  long 
story  of  the  wanderings  of  their  people  from  land  to  land,  led  ever 
by  the  Great  Spirit ;  their  appearance  in  the  mighty  solitudes  of  the 
west,  their  divisions,  their  wars,  their  thousand  suns  of  increase  and 
prosperity,  and  the  final  scourge  of  the  whites;  all  the  past  history  of 
their  nation,  all  the  fears  and  hopes  of  the  future,  passed  in  vivid  re 
view  before  them.  They  seemed  to  stand  with  him  upon  a  height, 
commanding  a  prospect  of  all  the  tribes,  where  the  children  sported 
by  the  threshold,  and  the  white  hairs  of  the  aged  floated  in  the  air 
as  they  bowed  themselves  in  the  sunshine  ;  fields  of  grain  glanced  in 
tho  light,  and  measureless  hunting-grounds,  full  of  game,  swept 
away  in  the  distance,  swelling  into  hills  or  towering  into  mountain 
peaks;  they  heard  the  war  of  many  waters,  and  the  swaying  of  the 
old  woods :  they  bent  the  ear  to  listen  with  hearts  exulting  in  the 
goodly  heritage  of  the  red  man.  In  sympathy  with  the  fervid  action 
of  the  speaker,  tears  rushed  to  their  eyes— they  started  from  their 
seats,  and  spread  out  their  anas  with  him  as  if  to  embrace  the  whole 
tribes  as  one. 

Such  had  been  the  eloquence  of  Tecumseh,  such  his  success;  and 
now  he  turned  his  steps  northward,  with  many  fears,  but  many 
hopes.  He  knew  the  nature  of  his  people,  their  proneness  to  im 
pulse,  and  reckless  disregard  of  the  future  ;  yet  it  is  the  nature  of 
elevated  motives  to  inspire  trust  and  hope,  and  there  was  that  about 
himself  that  forbade  dispair. 

The  modern  rail-road,  that  still  preserves  its  directness  in  spite  of 
hill,  valley,  or  interposing  river,  is  but  a  more  thorough  illustration  of 
the  mode  of  travelling  practiced  by  the  savage  in  his  long  and  pe- 
nlous  journeys  through  the  wilderness.  The  experienced  eye  of  Te. 
cumaeh  discerned  every  feature  of  the  immense  country  through 
which  he  was  passing,  and  with  no  guide  but  his  own  sure  judg- 


*  A  rattlesnake, 


ment  and  unerring  instinct,  he  could  preserve  his  direct  route  with 
scarce  the  variation  of  a  mile,  even  from  the  council-fires  of  the 
southernmost  Creeks,  to  the  head  waters  of  the  Wabash.  The  so 
litary  canoe  was  paddled  up  the  then  silent  rivers,  and  on  the  shoul 
ders  of  his  followers  was  carried  around  falls  and  dangerous  rapids. 
He  knew  where  the  branches  of  different  streams  approximated, 
making  what  they  usually  termed  a  "  carrying  place ;"  acd  there 
it  was  again  borne  across  the  country,  to  be  launched  once  more 
upon  a  stream  whose  waters  should  mingle  with  the  great  Lakes, 
take  the  dizzy  leap  ef  Niagara,  and  find  their  way  to  the  ocean 
through  the  St.  Lawrence ;  and  that  too,  while  the  bark  still  drip 
ped  with  the  waters  that  should  mingle  with  the  Ohio  and  the  far-off 
Missouri,  bearing  its  tribute  from  the  Oregon  mountains,  the  melted 
snow  of  their  summits,  to  be  sunned  under  the  citron  and  cocoa,  to 
glitter  in  the  shadow  of  the  palm-tree,  and  mingle  its  melody  with 
birds  of  the  tropics. 

It  was  mid-day  when  Tecumseh  reached  the  town  of  the  Prophet 
upon  the  banks  of  the  Tippecanoe.  His  step  was  firm  and  haughty, 
and  there  was  an  elevation  in  his  look  and  mein  betokening  a  man 
whose  energies  are  swayed  by  great  and  noble  principles,  and  who 
is  on  the  verge  of  realizing  all  the  proud  dreams  of  his  imagination. 
Unlike  the  few  followers  who  attended  him,  he  was  unadorned  with 
a  single  ornament.  Leggins  of  deerskin  with  a  tunic  of  the  same 
material,  a  belt  of  warnpum.  and  upon  his  head  a  helmet  with  a 
tuft  of  the  feathers  of  the  war-eagle,  indicating  his  rank  as  a  warrior, 
and  some  curiously  carved  shells  fastened  upon  one  side,  denoting 
the  number  of  wounds  he  had  received  in  battle,  completed  his  cos 
tume.  The  followers  of  himself  and  the  Prophet  had  thrown  aside 
the  blanket,  as  an  innovation  introduced  by  the  whites.  The  ap 
pearance  of  Tecumseh  contrasted  powerfully  with  that  of  his  bro- 
ther,Jwho  had  followed  him  in  his  southern  campaign.  While  Elis 
kwatawa  lived  in  the  mysterious  visions  of  the  future,  practising 
the  greatest  austerity,  and  living  apart  from  his  fellows,  as  one 
called  by  the  Almighty  to  reveal  his  will  to  his  children  ;  Tecumseh 
mingled  so  much  with  them  as  to  preserve  a  degree  of  sympathy 
and  companionship,  devoting  the  best  energies  of  his  EOU!  to  the 
good  of  his  country.  Patriotism  and  glory  were  the  idols  of  hie 
heart,  and  he  knelt  at  no  meaner  shrine.  Unlike  these,  the  third 
brother,  Kumshaka,  would  gladly  have  throw.n  off  the  yoke  which 
the  loftier  spirits  of  his  brothers  imposed  upon  him ;  and,  disre 
garding  the  past  history  of  the  tribes,  their  present  debasement,  or 
future  expectations;  would  gladly  have  sought  the  retiremeEt  of  a 
green-wood  lodge,  and  with  some  beautiful  daughter  of  the  forest, 
have  found  that  peace  which  the  dreams  of  ambition  can  never  re 
alize.  But  it  could  not  be — the  spell  of  his  birth  and  the  power  of  his 
brothers  was  upon  him,  and  he  followed  in  the  path  prescribed, 
powerless  to  turn  aside.  He  was  less  in  height  and  muscular  de 
velopment  than  Tecumseh,  but  possessed  the  same  regularity  of 
features,  and  even  more  of  symmetrical  beauty.  The  maidens,  who 
could  never  win  a  smile  from  the  one,  were  sure  of  the  most  approv 
ing  glances  of  the  other ;  and  though  Kumshaka's  voice  might  be 
of  little  note  in  the  council,  where  the.  sterner  spirits  of  his  brothers 
prevailed,  yet  in  the  green-wood  bower,none  could  win  greater  favor 
from  the  dark-eyed  daughters  of  the  woods.  He  was  a  good  hunter, 
and  the  scalps  at  his  belt  and  plumes  upon  his  helmet,  betokened  a 
warrior  too.  Yet  Kumshaka,  the  admired  of  his  people,  could  not 
submit  to  the  stern  symplicity  that  governed  them.  The  gay  belt, 
the  ornamented  moccasin,  and  deerskin  robe,  elaborately  adorned 
with  the  quills  of  the  porcupine,  had  been  the  labor  of  many  fingers 
and  were  the  reward  of  many  smiles.  Trinkets  that  Tecumseh  re 
garded  with  contempt,  were  the  envied  perquisites  of  his  brother. 

They  had  reached  the  borders  of  the  village,  and  Tecumseh,  stand 
ing  upon  an  elevation  that  commanded  a  prospect  of  the  surrounding 
country — the  wide-spread  prairie,  the  undulating  hill,  dressed  in  ver 
dure,  the  great  Lakes,  beaming  like  molten  silver  in  the  sunlight, 
the  river,  glittering  like  a  string  of  gems,  trailed  in  the  solitudes  of  the 
great  wilderness,  and  the  far-off  streams,  giving  tokens  of  their  pre 
sence  by  their  belt  of  mist  rising  in  the  distance — might  have  been 
taken  for  the  Genius  of  the  tribes,  looking  down  benignly  upon  their 
heritage. 

At  a  signal,  the  Prophet  and  his  followers  emerged  from  the  village. 
Tecumseh's  brow  fell,  as,  file  after  file,  a  thousand  warriors  ap 
proached,  each  with  his  visage  painted  black,  and  arms  depressed. 
Gloom  and  disaster  were  written  upon  every  brow.  The  women  and 
children  remained  in  their  cabins,  while,  solemnly  and  in  silence, 
the  chiefs  assembled  around  him.  Tecumseh  moved  not.  Slowly 
the  files  opened,  and  the  Prophet,  bearing  a  belt  before  him,  ap- 


CAPTIVE. 


T-HE     NEW     WORLD. 


proached  the  chief.     Raising  it  "in  the  air,  he  wrenched  it  asunder, 
and  flung  the  pieces  from  him. 

Lightning  seemed  to  dart  from  the  eyes  of  the  stem  warriorj  as 


this  gesture  of  the  Prophet  revealed  the  breaking  of  the  compact — j!  burst  from  every  lip. 


u.d  we  dare  not  revenge  it.     We  are  weary  of  rest.     Show  us  the 
smoke  of  their  cabins,  that  we  may  put  it  out  with  their  blood." 
A  thousand  tomahawks  glittered  in  the  light,  and  the  war-whoop 


the  severing  of  the  bonds  of  the  confederation  of  the  tribes. 

"They  shall  die!"   he  exclaimed,  vehemently.     "Summon  the 


Tecumseh  stood  unmoved  till  the  tumult  had  ceased. 

"  Chiefs,  they  are  our  brethren.     The  Great  Spiiit  hath  stamped 


chiefs  who  have  drank  of  the  strong-water  of  the  white  man,  an J  Id    the  same  features  upon  his  red  children  everywhere.     I  have  been 
The  spirit  of  the  red  man  is  dead  within  them— let  them , ;  where  our  brothers  hunt  the  bear  amid  the  ice  of  the  great  lakes,  the 

Tdlo  by  the  mountains  of  the  setting  sun,  and  where  the  alligator 


them  die. 
die !" 

Messengers  were  dispatched  to  the  recreant  tribes,  calling  upon 
them  to  appear  in  council  at  Tippecanoe,  and  answer  for  the  crim* 
of  breaking  the  pledge  that  forbade  the  sale  of  Indian  lands  to  the 
whites. 

Whatever  might  have  been  the  internal  suffering  of  Tecumseh, 
thus  to  behold  the  thwarting  of  his  great  plans  for  the  union  and 
protection  of  his  people,  he  showed  no  other  emotion  than  what  was 
requisite  to  decide  upon  their  fate.  His  countenance  resumed  its 
tranquil  and  sad  expression,  for  deep  thought  is  sure  to  leave  an 
impress  of  sadness — calm,  beautiful  sadness — that  seems  to  look 
away  from  the  present,  far  onward,  into  the  unseea  and  eternal. 
When,  therefore,  Tecumaeh  led  the  way  for  his  followers,  they 
might  have  sought  in  vain  any  response  to  their  own  wild  turbulence 


i*  dragged  from  the  rivers  of  the  burning  sky.  The  red  man  is  the 
same  everywhere.  The  Great  Spirit  made  him  of  the  color  of  the 
land  he  hath  given  us  lo  inherit.  It  is  ours.  The  white  man  shall 
not  wrest  it  from  us.  We  will  tell  their  great  chief  so,  and  he  will 
restore  it.  The  Great  Spirit  is  angry  with  us,  that  we  slay  one 
another.  Chiefs,  hear  me  : 

"  The  red  fox  and  the  gray  fox  were  originally  of  the  eame 
stock.  The  red  fox  wandered  away,  and  finding  the  country  warm 
and  abounding  in  game,  he  did  not  return  to  hia  old  haunts. 
After  many  suns,  the  foxes  increased  so  that  they  often  met  ia. 
pursuing  game;  and,  as  the  red  fox  had  grown  very  expert,  a 
treaty  was  agreed  upon,  and  they  were  henceforth  to  live  in  unity — 
to  hunt  together,  and  uuite  in  repelling  the  wolf,  who  was  growing 


of  passion.     His  calm,  stately  bearing  awed  them  into  submission,  j  j  every  day  more  troublesome.     At  length  it  was  discovered  that  the 
now  as  ever;  and  yet  his  was  not  the  finesse  of  one  willing  to  control, »  gray  foxes  were  selling  their  game  to  get  possession  of  some  choice 


by  practising  the  arts  that  are  sure  to  impress  the  multitude ;  but  the 
simple  majesty  imparted  by  purity  and  greatness  of  sentiment. 


CHAPTER  II. 

That  pale-face  man  came  out  alone 
From  the  moaning  wood's  deep  shade. — SEBA.  SMITH- 
WHEN  the  day  set  apart  for  the  meeting  of  the  council  arrived, 
instead  of  the  gathering  of  dusky  chiefs  and  the  wise  men  of  the 
sever?.!  tribes,  a  solitary  youth  was  seen  leisurely  riding  in  from  the 
prairie,  habited  in  the  simple  uniform  of  the  north-west,  being  little 
more  than  a  huntsman's  frock,  a  low  cap  surmounted  with  a  black 
feather,  and  a  belt  containing  a  knife,  pistols  and  powder-horn. 


meat,  which  the  wolf  only  could  procure.  The  red  foxes  determined 
upon  revenge.  A  great  battle  took  place.  The  wooda  were  full  of 
the  slain  foxes.  The  scent  attracted  their  enemies,  the  volves,  and 
they  poured  in  upon  them,  devouring  all,  without  atoppiag  to  se* 
whether  they  were  red  or  gray:  they  were  all  foxes.  It  was  too 
late  for  defence.  The  foxes  have  ever  since  been  inferior  to  the 
wolves  in  power  and  numbers.  But  it  taught  them  that  cunning 
which  has  ever  since  distinguished  them." 

A  smile  mantled  the  visages  of  the  chiefs  as  each  one  made  the 
application,  and  Tecumseh  slowly  retired. 

The  tall  figure  of  the  Prophet  next  appeared.  He  bore  in  one 
hand  a  rude  vessel  of  earthen,  through  the  pores  of  which  large  drops 
of  water  were  oozing,  and  hanging  in  heavy  beads — looking  deli- 


tising  with  them  feats  of  strength  and  agility ;  then  returning  to  the 
log-cabin  of  his  parents,  to  con  with  greater  zest  the  treasures  of  his 
father's  small  library,  and  indulge  in  the  ease  which  an  abundance 
of  the  good  things  of  life  afforded.  He  was  well  known,  and  a 


o  i  UK    watwa    IT  vj 

Henry  Mansfield  was  a  native  of  Vincennes,  where  his  father  had  JciOUsly  cool  in  the  hot  atmosphere;  in  the  other,  he  held  two  dry 
built  the  first  log  house  of  the  opening.  Mr.  Mansfield,  being  of  an  j  pieces  of  wood.  A  iOBg  deerskin  robe,  covered  with  numerous 
open  generous  temper,  and  withal,  fond  of  the  adventurous  life  of  devices,  swept  upon  the  ground,  confined  at  the  waist  by  a  belt  of 
the  back-woods,  had  associated  familiarly  with  the  Indians,  always  j  |  w*mpum.  Hoofs  of  the  wild  deer  depended  in  a  long  string  from 
ready  to  relieve  their  necessities,  and  often  to  share  in  their  hunting  \  ^9  necil>  and  the  rattles  of  the  massasauga  fastened  upon  the  sleeves 
expeditions.  Henry,  his  only  child,  had  lived  a  demi-savage  life,|  of  nis  10be,  shook  at  every  motion.  An  immense  skin  of  the  same 
roving  for  days  with  the  natives  in  the  wild  woods,  chasing  with  j  i  animal,  preserved  with  great  skill— the  fiery  tongue  still  projecting, 
them  the  fleet  deer  to  its  covert,  managing  the  light  canae,  and  prac- 1 1  and  the  spiral  tail  borne  aloft  with  its  many  rattles— was  flung  acroas 

'  one  shoulder,  and  at  the  other  hung  the  bow  and  quiver. 

Passing  slowly  around  the  assembly,  he  sang  in  a  monotonous  tone  : 

i  "A  poison  lurked  in  the  veins  of  the  red  man,  but  it  is  passing  away. 

i  It  sapped  the  strength  of  our  warriors,  but  their  might  shall  return. 

favorite  with  the  youth  of  the  different  tribes ;  and,  when  General  |  [  Children  were  fading  from  our  wigwams,  and  old  men  from  the 
Harrison  selected  him  to  convey  a  message  to  the  brothers  at  Tippe-  |j  council  hall.  They  shall  sport  once  more  at  our  thresholds,  and  the 
canoe,  he  could  not  have  chosen  one  more  acceptable.  Tecumseh  [>  nead  of  snow  shall  smoke  the  council-pipe." 

himself  welcomed  his  young  frieml  to  the  village,  and,  calling  theii  Tlien  rajg;ng  tne  veS8el  of  water  aloft,  he  scattered  its  contents 
principle  warriors  together,  listened  to  the  'talk'  of  the  white  j|among  tne  assembly. 

Father.  "This  was  the  drink  of  our  fathers;  it  came  leaping  from  the 

General  Harrison  desired  the  Prophet  and  Tecumseh  to  meet  him  j  mountains,  or  was  poured  out  from  the  hand  of  the  Great  Spirit.  It 
at  Vmeennes,  to  make  known  their  claims  to  the  land  sold  by  the  i  made  them  strong.  It  was  no  burning  serpent,  to  steal  away  their 
Indians  at  the  Council  of  Fort  Wayne,  and  also  desired  that  the  j|  brains." 

chiefs  engaged  in  that  treaty  might  net  be  disturbed,  till  the  white.       Rubbing  the  dry  pieces  of  wood  together,  a  fhme  burst  forth,  and 
Father  and  Tecumseh  should  hold  a  council  together:  moreover,  it 
was  the  will  of  General  Harrison,  that  no  more  than  forty  warrion 
should  attend  the  brothers  at  Vincennes. 


he  kindled  a  fire  with  the  dry  leaves  at  his  feet : 

"  Thus  did  our  fathers  light  the  fire  of  our  cabins.     The  musket 
Further,  he  desired  thai    Of  the  white  man,  the  flint  and  the  steel,  and  the  water  of  flame  were 

unknown  to  them.    Thus  did  they  bring  down  the  game  to  supply 

their  wants." 
He  disengaged  the  bow  from  his  shoulder,  and  an  eagle,  soaring 


the  murderers  engaged  in  the  slaughter  of  the  Darand  family,  should 
be  delivered  up  to  justice. 

Tecumseh  waved  Tiis  hand  impatiently.      "The  white  Father, 

General  Harrison,  is  a  great  chief — so  is  Tecumseh.  The  land  sold  jj  like  a  speck  in  the  thin  atmosphere  above,  wavered  in  its  flight, 
upon  the  Wabash  does  not  belong  to  the  tribes  who  sold  it,  bui  ,  shivered  its  heavy  wings,  and  fell  to  the  ground.  A  cry  burst  from 
every  red  man  has  a  right  therein.  No  one  tribe  can  sell  without  the  j  the  assembly:  "  Let  us  do  as  our  fathers  did,  that  their  strength  may 
consent  of  all.  I  will  meet  the  General  in  council.  I  do  not  desire :  |  oe  ours." 

war.  The  red  man  has  buried  his  talons  deep  in  his  flesh  :  he  may  j  Eliskwatawa  stood,  as  the  arrow  had  sprung  from  the  bow,  with 
be  handled  like  the  cub  of  the  panther,  when  it  sports  among  our  jj  foot  advanced,  his  shoulders  thrown  back,  the  bow  still  elevated,  hia 
children.  It  is  many  suns  since  the  Durand  family  were  slaughtered. ;  prOud  head  raised  to  the  sky;  while  his  deep  flittering  eyes  were 


The  murderers  are  not  with  us :  they  belong  to  the  Crooked  Path — 
Winnemac.  We  will  meet  in  council." 

Low,  guttural  sounds  of  displeasure  broke  from  one  of  the  younger 
members  of  the  council.  Mayeerah  sprang  from  his  seat : 

"  While  we  smoke  the  pipe  at  the  council  of  the  white  man,  the 
chiefc  will  be  saying  there  is  no  union  of  the  tribes— it  is  broken— 


fixed  upon  the  group  before  him.  The  skin  of  the  massasauga  had 
slid  from  his  shoulders,  and  lay  like  a  living  thing  at  his  feet.  W<h- 
out  changing  bis  position,  he  continued  in  a  deeper  tone,  with  his 
teeth  clenched  in  the  strength  of  his  emotion : 

"  Our  fathers  were  strong  men.    Like  the  massasauga,  they  gave 
the  alarm:  but  their  blow  waa  deadly." 


THE     NEW     WORLD. 


THE  WESTERN 


His  arm  fell  to  his  side,  and,  moving  onward,  he  sang  in  the  samej  wrought  in  the  same  manner,  while  a  like  facing  passed  up  the  bust 

low  key  with  which  he  had  commenced :  |  in  front,  leaving  it  partially  open,  and  spreading  off  upon  each  shoul- 

"The  strong  arm  shall  return,  and  the  smoke  of  our  cabias  shall |!der,  descended  the  arm  upon  both  sides  of  the  sleeve  to  the  elbow; 


go  up  from  every  valley." 

One  after  another  the  chiefs  arose  to  depart,  with  arms  folded  upon 
their  bosoms  and  head  depressed  ;  as  men  swayed  by  great  purposes, 
and  resolved  to  do  all  things  for  the  furtherance  of  the  vast  scheme 
that  was  to  restore  the  tribes  to  their  primitive  greatness  and 
simplicity. 

When  Henry  Mansfield  retired  from  the  council  of  the  chiefs,  the 
long  shadows  lay  upon  the  grass,  and  the  sun  glittering  through  the 
leaves  of  the  trees,  fell  upon  the  river  as  it  rippled  by,  lighting  it  up 
as  if  a  shower  of  gems  were  sparkling  and  heaving  in  the  light,  j 
The  old  men  had  seated  themselves  at  the  doors  of  their  wigwams, 
smoking,  while  the  younger  portion  were  disporting  themselves  into 
groups,  practising  games  of  hazard  or  feats  of  strength.  Children 
were  collected  upon  the  area  in  front  of  the  village,  trying  their  skill 
•with  the  bow,  and  their  strength  in  poising  the  javelin.  In  the  rear  j 
of  the  cabins  might  occasionally  be  seen  a  canoe  in  the  progress  o| 
construction,  while  the  women  were  busy  in  preserving  beans,  corn, 
and  other  seeds  for  the  winter  stock,  or  spreading  fish  upon  rude  flakes 
to  dry  in  the  sun.  Though  the  blankets  and  many  other  articles  in 
troduced  by  the  whites  had  been  thrown  aside,  and  moit  of  the  males 
were  clad  in  the  primitive  garments  of  the  tribe,  the  women  still 
retained  many  of  the  obnoxious  articles,  such  as  rings  for  the  ringers 
and  arms,  and  a  profusion  ef  colored  beads  ;  and  in  more  than  one 
instance  might  be  seen,  suspended  upon  the  breast,  a  plate  of  silver 
rudely  chased,  and  of  the  size  of  an  ordinary  saucer. 

Mansfield  had  determined  to  await  the  marching  of  Tecumseh 
and  his  guard  to  Vincennes,  and  he  sauntered  leisurely  through  the 
village,  recognizing  old  acquaintances,  and  remarking  the  progress 
of  the  several  amusements,  well  pleased  when  the  lofty  chief,  Te 
cumseh,  left  him  to  the  more  companionable  Kumshaka.  Adopting  j 
at  once  the  Indian  mode  of  locomotion,  which  consists  in  always 
preserving  a  direct  line,  stepping  one  foot  upon  the  line  of  the  other, 
with  no  turning  out  of  the  toe,  as  is  the  case  with  Europeans, 
he  kept  within  the  foot-paths  of  the  natives,  though  no  wider  than 
the  foot.  These  were  always  worn  to  the  hardness  of  a  rock,  and  in 
tersecting  each  other  in  all  directions,  looked  like  serpents  gliding 
through  the  green  grass.  Following  his  companion,  they  reached 
the  banks  of  the  river  as  the  last  ray  of  sunset  glittered  a  moment 
upon  a  lofty  pine,  that  towered  up  above  the  natives  of  the  forest  ; 


the  two  portions  of  which  were  joined  together  by  a  row  of  small 
white  shells.  In  this  way  the  neck  and  shoulders  were  left  exposed, 
and  the  bust  but  partially  concealed.  Her  hair  was  drawn  to  the 
back  of  the  head,  and  fell  in  long  braids  below  the  waist ;  a  string  of 
the  crimson  seeds  of  the  wild  rose,  encircling  it  like  a  coronal  of  ru 
bies.  She  was  rather  above  the  ordinary  height,  delicately,  and  yet 
so  justly  proportioned,  as  to  leave  nothing  to  desire.  There  was  a 
freedom  and  grace  iu  her  stately  step,  totally  unlike  the  long  trot  of 
the  natives.  Mansfield  was  a  young  man,  and  familiar  with  classi 
cal  allusion  ;  and  he  thought,  as  might  have  been  expected,  of  Diana 
and  her  nymphs,  and  the  whole  train  of  goddesses  from  Juno  down ; 
and  concluded,  by  turning  as  if  to  follow  in  the  direction  of  the  maiden. 
Kumshaka  arrested  him. 

"  The  Ssvaying-Reed  is  a  proud  maiden,  and  fit  for  the  councils  of 
our  people." 

"  Can  it  be,  that  she  belongs  to  the  tribes  1  I  thought  she  must  be 
some  white  girl  from  the  settlement,  who  perhaps  in  sport  had  adopted 
your  dress." 

"  A  white  girl !"  retorted  the  chief,  scornfully ;  "  a  white  girl,  with 
a  step  like  the  fawn  in  its  stateliness  or  speed,  an  eye  that  can  bring 
the  eagle  from  the  cloud,  and  a  hand  to  paddle  the  birch  canoe  over 
the  rapids,  to  the  very  verge  of  the  cataract !" 

"  Surely,  surely,"  said  the  other,  "  she  can  be  no  Indian  maid} 
with  those  soft  features  ;  and  where  the  wind  lifted  the  hair  from 
her  brow  it  was  pure,  as — as" — in  his  eagerness  he  was  at  a  loss  for 
a  comparison,  and  the  Indian  laughed  at  his  perplexity. 

"  She  is  beautiful,'  resumed  Kumshaka,  "  for  she  hath  lived  in 
the  freedom  of  wood  and  mountain.  The  spring-time  blessom  hath 
slept  upon  her  cheek,  and  the  red  berry  clustered  about  her  mouth. 
The  brown  nut  hath  painted  her  hair,  and  the  dusky  sky  looked 
into  her  eyes.  The  wind  that  swayeth  th«  young  woods  hath  lent 
her  its  motions,  and  the  lily  from  the  still  lake  made  its  home 
upon  her  bosom.  But  the  Great  Spirit  hath  given  her  a  proud  heart, 
and  wisdom  to  mix  in  the  councils  of  old  men." 

Mansfield  did  not  press  his  inquiries,  for  he  saw  that  his  compan 
ion  was  adroit  in  evasion ;  and  though  inwardly  resolved  to  fathom, 
if  possible,  the  history  of  the  fair  girl  whose  appearance  had  so  fired 
his  imaginatian  ;  this,  his  first  essay,  had  taught  him  the  necessity  of 
caution  in  pursuing  his  inquiries.  He  threw  himself  upon  his  bed 


its  polished  spires  quivering  like  myriads  of  tiny  spears,  and  then  asj|of  gkins  and  sjept  SOundly  until  morning,  for  the  fatigues  and  excite- 
the  light  receded,  softly  resuming  their  bright  green  hue,  and  fading  j  \  ments  of  the  day  had  so  predisposed  him  to  slumber,  that  even  the 
away  to  the  sombre  shade  of  the  dim  woodland.  j ;  lmage  of  lhe  Swaying-Reed,  the  last  that  dwelt  upon  his  memory, 

Scarcely  had  they  seated  themselves  upon  a  point  projecting  into!  j  wagDinsufficient  to  drive  the  god  from  his  pillow, 
the  river,  when  Kumshaka  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  sent  a  keen  glance! 
down  the  river.  Mansfield  followed  the  direction  of  his  eye,  but 
nothing  was  obvious  to  the  senses.  At  length  a.  faint  plashing  of  the 
water  fell  upon  the  ear,  but  whether  from  the  dip  of  an  oar  or  the 
wing  of  a  wild  duck,  he  could  not  determine.  The  sounds  approached, 
and  he  could  distinguish  the  measured  fall  of  a  paddle,  and  soon 
a  slight  curve  of  the  river  revealed  to  him  a  canoe  of  diminutive  di 
mensions,  propelled  by  a  single  voyager.  The  youth  sprang  forward 
with  eager  surprise,  as  a  moment  more  revealed  the  occupant  to  be  j  j  LEAVING  Mansfield  and  his  companion  at  the  verge  of  the  riverr 
a  young  girl  of  surprising  beauty  ;  her  slight  figure  gently  bent,  as, j; the  Swaying-Reed  passed  onward  to  the  t-nt  of  the  Prophet,  where 
with  the  least  imaginable  effort,  the  small  paddie  sent  the  canoe  rip- ;j  Tecumseh,  and  some  of  the  older  chiefs  were  assembled.  Pausing 
pling  over  the  water.  Filled  with  her  own  sweet  thoughts,  her  lips' i  at  the  threshold  with  her  fingers  carelessly  interlocked,  and  arms 
were  slightly  parted,  and  her  head  thrown  back,  revealing  an  outline 
that  a  sculptor  might  envy.  Her  deep,  expressive  eyes,  were  fixed 
upon  the  pile  of  gorgeous  clouds  that  draped  the  pavillion  of  the  set- 


CHAPTER  III. 

When  the  hunter  turned  away  from  that  scene, 

Where  the  home  of  his  fathers  once  had  been, 

And  heard  by  the  distant  and  measured  stroke, 

That  the  woodman  hewed  dowi)  the  giant  oak  ; 

And  burning  thoughts  flashed  over  his  mind 

Of  the  white  man's  faith,  and  love  unkind.— LONGFELLOW. 


ting  sun,  and  occasionally  a  few  notes  of  a  wild  song  burst  from  her 


falling  down  before  her,  she  said  in  a  rich,  low  voice, 

"  The  chiefs  have  left  a  woman  to  seek  out  the.  councils  of  their 
foes.     Winnemac  is  too  wary  to  be  caught  in  the  snare,  or  to  be 


tracked  home  to  the  den."     She  pursued  her  way,  leaving  them  to 
!  divine  as  best  they  might  the  meaning  of  what  she  had  said. 


lips,  as  if  she  sang  in  the  very  idleness  of  delight.     "  It  is  the  Sway 
ing  Read,"  whispered  Kumshaka.  It  is  impossible  to  say  what  vague  reminiscences  the  appearance 
A  few  strokes  of  the  paddle  brought  the  slight  barque  under  the  i  f  Henry  Mansfield  had  awakened  in  the  bosom  of  the  forest  girl, 
shadow  of  a  tree,  almost  at  the  feet  of  the  young   men.     Kumshaka!  When  she  sought  the  wigwam  of  Mother  Minaree,  she  scarcely  re- 
leapt  to  her  side,  artd  took  the  canoe  from  the  water  to  the  green  !  plied  to  the  gratified  welcome  of  the  good  woman,  but  throwing  her- 
bank.     A  sweet,  but  haughty  smile  played  for  a  moment  over  the  !  self  upon  the  skins,  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  burst  into  tears, 
face  of  the  girl,  and  then  a  blush  mantled  her  cheek  and  bosom  as!' Minaree  tried  to  console  her,  by  applying  the  most  endearing  epithets 
she  perceived  his  companion.     An  instant  her  full  eye  rested  upon!' of  which  her  language  was  capable.     "  Tell  me  what  shadow  has 
his  face,  and  then  she  passed  en,  her  small  slender  fingers  instinctively  '•  fallen  on  the  head  of  the  Swaying  Reed,  and  I  will  chase  it  away." 
grasping  the   robe  that  shaded  and  yet  revealed  her  besom.     Her  !     "  Call  me  Margaret,  dear  Minaree,"  said  the  weeping  girl, 
dress  was  a  mixture  of  the  savage,  with  a  tasteful  reference    to  the1!     Minaree  sank  on  the  skins  beside  her,  and  tears  gathered  in  her 
civilized  mode.     It  was  composed  of  skins  so  delicate  in  their  texture,    aged  eyes, 
and  so  admirably  joined  together,  as  to  give  the  appearance  of  a  con-  '<  \     "  Margaret  is  tired  of  her  Indian  mother.     She  longs  to  be  with 

us  piece,  the  whole  resembling  the  richest  velvet.     The  robe ,  her  own  people." 

reached  but  little  below  the  knee,  with  a  narrow  border  of  the  po'rcu- 1      "  No,  no,  mother,  but  a  weight  is  upon  my  breast,  and  the  shadows 
pine  quills,  richly  colored.    It  was  confined  at  the  waist  by  a  belt!  of  many  years  are  crowding  back  upon  me." 


CAPTIVE. 


THE     NEW     WORLD 


She  raised  herself  up,  and  began  to  caress  a  snowy  fawn  that  had 
laid  its  head  upon  her  shoulder  to  attract  her  attention. 

"  I  lore  you,  Minaree,  you  have  been  a  mother  to  me.  I  have 
none  to  love  amongst  my  own  people  :  I  will  listen  to  the  singing  of 
the  night-bird,  and  my  heart  will  be  light  again." 

She  threw  a  string  of  wampum  over  the  neck  of  her  favorite,  and 
disappeared  in  the  thick  foliage  that  skirted  the  river. 

The  cabin  of  Minaree  possessed  many  points  to  distinguish  it  from  ' 
the  others  of  the  village.  It  stood  upon  the  very  outskirts,  and  a 
slight  sweep  of  the  stream  brought  the  waters  within  a  few  paces  of  i 
the  threshold.  Margaret  had  trained  the  wild  rose,  and  the  -wood-  \ 
bine,  and  the  delicate  clematis,  to  the  very  roof,  so  that  the  dwelling 
could  scarcely  be  distinguished  from  the  surrounding  shrubbery,  i 
Upon  each  side  were  patches  of  flowers,  which  she  had  sought  in  the  | 
woods  and  transplanted  to  embellish  her  dwelling.  Where  the  green 
sloped  to  the  river,  a  wild  vine  had  draped  the  trees  into  a  natural 
arbor,  and  Minaree  had  helped  her  foster-child  to  weave  about  it  a  1 ' 
lattice  and  seats  of  osier. 

The  interior  of  the  cabin,  likewise,  combined  an  air  of  taste  and 
comfort,  which  could  only  have  been  supplied  by  the  recollections 
of  Margaret.  Minaree  still  spread  her  skins  upon  the  floor,  and 
seated  herself  upon  them  in  a  mode  resembling  the  Turk  upon  his  ot 
toman  ;  but  Margaret's  couch  was  woven  of  osier,  raised  about  a  foot 
from  the  floor,  and  covered  with  skias  of  snowy  whiteness.  Small 
stools  of  the  same  construction  occupied  one  side,  and  a  bow  and 
arrows,  light  paddles  for  a  canoe,  nets,  strings  of  wampum,  embroid 
ered  belts,  moccasins,  and  rude  ornaments,  were  suspended  from  the 
walls.  A  heavy  skin  of  the  buffalo  concealed  the  entrance,  which 
in  the  day  time  was  turned  upon  one  side,  by  means  of  a  loup  fasten 
ing  it  to  a  peg  driven  into  one  of  the  frame  logs  of  the  house. 

Away  from   the  sympathy  and  condolence  of  her  foster-mother, 
Margaret  abandoned  herself  to  the  luxury  of  weeping  alone,  in  the 
secrecy  cf  her  own  heart,  with  none  to  wonder  thereat,  and  none  to 
attempt  the  futile  task  of  consolation,  gathered,  as  it  too  often  is,  from 
the  very  sources  that  but  aggravate  the  poignancy  of  grief.    With  instinc 
tive  gentleness  of  heart,  she  threw  one  arm  over  thi  neck  of  her 
favorite  fawa,  which  looked  mutely  in  her  face,  as  if  it  sympathized 
in  her  sufferings.     She  bowed  her  head  upon  her  hand,  and  wept 
freely;  for  the  sight  of  one  of  her  own  people  had  awakened  the  deep 
echoes  of  other  years,  and  brought  back  the  voices  of  the  dead,  and 
the  long-buried  recollections  of  childhood.     A  new  sense  of  solitude 
weighed  heavily  upon  her,  and  she  felt  as  one  who  had  been  severed 
from  the  loves  and  kindnesses  of  her  race,  and  abanded  to  the  wild  and 
strange  destinies  of  another  people.     H-r  heart  yearned  for  the  voice  ] 
of  kindness,  for  the  household  tones  of  other  days,  for  the  holy  obser  '• 
vance  of  an  enlightened  faith,  and  the  refinements  and  quietude  of 
civilized  life.     She  would  once  more  have  nestled  in  the  lap  of  affec-  j 
tion,  with  the  security  and  confidence  which  only  peace  and  love  ( 
can  bestow. 

The  thick  clusterings  of  the  vine  were  lifted  up,  and  Tecumseh 
stood  in  the  little  bower.  Margaret  raised  her  head,  and  arose  list- 
lessly  to  her  feet. 

"  The  night-dew  hath  weighed  the  Swaying  Reed  to  the  earth- 
can  Tecumseh  brush  it  away  1"  and  the  voice  of  the  chief  was  low  ' 
and  musical,  a?  he  bent  his  brow  ever  the  beautiful  girl. 

"Call  me  Margaret,  chief;  call  me  by  the  name  of  my  child 
hood  ;"  and  the  poor  girl  looked  imploringly,  and  with  an  expression 
of  utter  wretchedness,  into  the  face  of  the  warrior.  A  sharp  expres 
sion  of  pain  cams  to  the  features  of  the  chief,  and  he  placed  her  upon 
the  rade  seat,  while  he  laid  him  self  upon  the  turf  at  her  feet. 

«  The  blossom  pines  for  the  soil  in  which  it  was  first  nurtured- 
for  companionship  like  its  o wa-for  the  long-remembered  dew  aad  sun 
shine  of  other  skies.  The  will  of  the  maiden  is  law  with  Tecumseh. 
She  shall  return  to  her  people." 

Margaret's  hands  were  clasped,  and  her  eyes  fixed  as  one  that  sees, 
and  yet  regards  not ;  and  her  utterance  was  as  one  that  talks  to  him 
self,  or  murmurs  in  unquiet  slumbering.     "  I  behold  a  dwelhng  i 
the  deep  woods,  with  its  vines  and  blossoms.     I  behold  a  stern  man,  j 
wrestling  in  prayer;  prayer  to  the  true  God,  whom  I  have  forgotten, , 
or  worship  under  the  name  of  the  Great  Spirit.     There  is  a  sn 
with  her  bird-like  voice,  and  brow  of  gentleness,  ana  she  folds  me  to 
her  bosom,  as  the  shadows  of  night  gather  around  us.     A  pale,  ca 
face  is  bending  over  us,  with  a  sweet  smile,  but  full  of  sadness,  and  . 
ske  calls  me  child.     Dreams,  long-long  dreams  of  sunshine,  of  pea< 
and  love  are  with  me.     There  is  the  brook,  where  the  gay  fish  leaped 
ia  the  light— the  bridge  which  my  sister  helped  to  build— the  verge  < 
the  dark  woods  where  the  fox  came  out  to  bark— the  pasture  wher< 
we  gathered  the  ripe  berries.    Hark !"  and  she  sprang  wildly  from  he 


seat,  overcome  with  the  vividness  of  the  picture  which  her  own  fancy 
had  brought  before  her;  "hark!  I  hear  ydls  and  shrieks!  The 
feeble  woman  is  covered  with  her  own  blood,  and  the  terrified  eyes 
of  the  child  meet  mine,  as  it  swings  in  the  air  to  be  dashed  against 
the  tree  !  The  stern  man  is  writhing  and  prostrate,  and  I  am  power 
less!"  She  sank  backward,  pale  and  trembling,.  and  the  chief  re 
garded  her  with  that  awe,  with  which  all  are  inclined  to  listen  to 
those  suddenly  bereft  of  reason  ;  as  if  their  speech  were  akin  to  in 
spiration  —  the  spontaneous  utterance  of  the  divine  soul. 

A  gush  of  tears  came  to  her  relief,  and  the  chief,  with  native  refine 
ment,  did  not  interrupt  their  flow.  After  a  pause,  in  which  she 
recovered  her  wonted  composure,  she  remarked  : 

"The  nest  of  the  bird  was  riven,  and  scattered  to  the  winds;  but 
it  sought  a  shelter  in  the  bosom  of  Tecumseh." 

For  a  moment,  a  melancholy  smile  played  over  the  face  of  the  girl, 
but  it  yielded  to  a  quick  expresaion  of  suffering,  as  painful  memories 
had  driven  the  blood  back  to  her  heart  ;  and  she  replied  with  that 
apathy  which  misery  alone  can  bring  ; 

A  thankless  boon,  Tecurrueh  ;  life,  only  life,  which  we  hold  ia 
common  with  the  reptiles  at  our  feet.  A  wretched  booa.  A  breath 
ing  existence  of  solitude  and  misery." 

The  chief  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  a  tomahawk  glittered  in  the  moon 
light.  Margaret,  without  life  or  motion,  lay  at  his  feet.  He  threw 
the  tomahawk  aside,  and  raised  her  gently  in  his  arms,  while  he  held 
back  the  thick  vines,  till  the  night-winds  brought  the  color  to  her  lips. 

"  Margaret,  is  life  valuless  1  I  did  bat  jest  with  thee  ;"  and  then, 
in  a  deeper  voice,  as  one  whose  holiest  emotions  have  been  stirred 
from  their  fountain,  he  went  on.  "  Maiden,  I  will  restore  thee  to 
thy  people  ;  I  will  give  thee  back  to  those  who  will  speak  thee  fair, 
ivith  hollow  hearts,  where  kindness  will  be  as  water  spilled  upon  the 
earth;  and  the  poor  Indian  is  but  a  beast  of  the  woods,  to  be  hunted 
down,  and  destroyed.  Go  —  go,  it  will  but  take  a  beam  of  light  from 
the  eyes  of  Tecumseh." 

Margaret  bent  her  head  as  if  listening  to  the  tones  of  pleasaat 
music,  with  her  hands  folded,  and  tears  trembling  upon  her  eye  lids. 
Crowding  back  the  tumultuous  recollections  of  other  days,  she  replied 
solemnly. 

"  No,  Tecumseh,  the  Swaying  Reed  will  return  no  more  to  her 
people.  There  is  none  left  for  her  to  love.  I  would  this  stranger 
had  not  appeared  among  us,  for  he  brought  back  what  I  fain  would 
have  forgotten.  It  is  past  now,  and  I  am  again  one  of  the  red  people. 
Their  wrongs  are  mine  :  I  will  suffer  with  them  —  die  with  them." 

The   chief  bowed   his  head,  admiringly.      "The  tongue  of  the 
Swaying  Reed  is  as  the  melody  of  a  bird;  it  livethon  the  ear,  whea 
the  sound  hath  passed  from  the  lips.     Tecumseh  has  wept  at  the  sor 
rows  of  the  Swaying  Reed,  and  her  pale,  proud  beauty  amid  the 
dark  maidens  of  his  tribe,  has  always  gone  to  his  heart.     She  has 
been  as  a  fawn  deserted  of  its  dam,  and    the  red  man  has  sheltered, 
and  nourished  her.     In  the  long  march  he  has  saved  her  from  toil, 
and  returning  from  the  hunt,  he  has  laid  his  spoils  at  the  door  of  her 
wigwam.     She  has  been  light,  and  beauty,  and  gladness  to  the 
heart  of  Tecumseh.     He  has  wept,  when   the  maiden  wept,  for  her 
sorrows  have  been  his  own.     He  knoweth  of  the  deadly  vengeance 
of  his  people  ;  that  it  can  never  slumber  ;  but  the  white  man  fi 
put  blood  upon  his  face.     The  innocent  now  suffer  with  the  guilty, 
but  the  fault  is  his  own.    The  Indian  mother  paddled  her  canoe  upon 
the  river  ;  her  infant  slept  upon  her  bosom,  aad  her  children  dipped 
their  fingers  in  the  water,  over  its  edge.     The  white  man's  rifle  a 
sure    and  deadly—  the  child  swallowed  blood  for  its  milk,  and  t 
cano'e  floats  idly  down  the  stream.     The  old  man,  and  the  he  plea 
maiden,  are  robbed,  or  murdered,  in  the  wantonness  of  blood,  «• 
there  is  none  to  do  them  justice.    There  is  no  help  for  the  poo 
d.an.     Wrong  and  outrage  are  heaped  upon  him   and  there  »  ,  non, 
to  hHp      The  Great  Spirit  hath  cast  a  cloud  of  blackness  about  h,m. 
The  stars  tell  of  war  and  disaster,  and  the  dreams  of  our  old  men  are 
full  of  wo       The  strong  water  of  the  white  man  stealeth  .way  tb 
ibrams  of  his  red  brother,  and  he  birtereth  away  the  village   whr« 

s  children  have  sported  ;  the  graves  of  his  fathers,  the  old  hunting. 

!g  0±s  and  couac'l-fires,  and  the    ancient  mounds,  that    tell  our 

children  of  the  battle-grounds  of  warriors,  and  the  graves  of  gr.at 

h    fe     There  is  no  home  for  the  red  man.     His  fires  have  gone  out 

n  a  LU  and  vallies,  and  the  ploughshare  of  the  white  man  pasae-h 

L 


u 


from  the  earth.    He  m«.I  be  as  . 


more. 


THE     NEW      WORLD 


THE  WESTERN 


There  was  a  tone  of  H-.3  deepest  pathos  in  the  utterance  ot  the  isky  of  its  pathway  blue— intensely  and  beautifully  blue,  like  a  sea  of 
chief;  and  after  his  voice  ceased,  the  melody  of  its  tones  seemed  to \' azure,  on  which  the  eye  rested  with  a  sense  ef  quiet  luxury.  The 
linger  upon  the  ear.  He  stood  with  his  head  inclined,  the  flexible  1 1  long,  shrill  notes  of  the  locust  arose  like  an  alarum  in  the  still  woods, 
lip  parted,  and  his  dark  eye  fixed  in  melancholy  vacancy.  jaud  was  then  silent.  The  butterfly  poised  itself  long  upon  the  bios- 


Margaret  was  about  to  Jeply,  when  a  slight  rattling  and  stirring  of 
the  vines  arrested  her.  She  clung  to  the  arm  of  the  chief,  pale  with 
terror. 

"Fear  it  aot,  maiden.  It  is  the  good  manitou  of  the  Shawanee — 
a  aoble  reptile ;  it  telleth  of  its  presence,  and  striketh  only  when 
molested.  Tae  Great  Spirit  hath  sent  it  to  speak  hope  to  the  heart 
of  Tecumseh.  But,  alas  !  the  spirit  of  the  red  man  hath  departed. 
The  Swaying  Reed  is  wise  and  noble,  like  the  manitou  of  the  Sha- 


soms  •  and  the  mute  dragon-fly,  with  its  mottled  wings,  darted  every 
where  over  the  still  pools,  in  the  very  ecstasy  of  its  bliss.  The  saucy 
squirrel  sat  with  its  tail  erect  upon  the  branches,  and  held  its  nuts 
with  infantile  dexterity,  the  shells  rattling  upon  the  dry  leaves  be 
neath.  It  was  the  very  Sabbath  of  nature— its  fullness  of  repose, 
when  the  human  soul  goes  out  in  sympathy  with  it ;  and  its  owa 
growth  in  the  good  and  the  spiritual,  is  as  unmarked  as  the  silent 
operations  of  the  great  mother,  when  thus  she  seems  to  rest,  and  yet 


wanese.     Did  she  seek  out  the  councils  of  the  Crooked  Path  1" 
*'  Winnemac  is  with  the  white  chief  at  Vincennes.     All  the  chiefs 

that  have  taken  of  the  strong  water  are  with  him."  •,   c  , 

'    ,     ,       ,  -jT\ftJ,»          ,  J;of  harmony;  for  even  the  deer  had  laid  aside  its  timidity,  and  was 

Tecumseh's  brow  contracted  sharply.     "Said  I  not  the  spirit  of  !„„„,;_,,  „,  .__._  „,  .u. 


is  elaborating  her  beautiful  creations. 
Kumshaka  stalked  onward,  the  one  discordant  link  in  thi?  chain 


the  red  man,  has  departed  V  He  stood  a  moment  wrapped  in 
thought,  and  then  taking  the  hand  of  Margaret,  he  led  her  from  the 
arbor,  passing  the  massasauga,  as  it  lay  coiled  in  the  moonlight,  its 
fcuraished  folds  gleaming  and  changing  like  a  heap  of  gems  piled  on 
the  green  earth.  It  moved  not  as  they  went  by,  though  Margare 
eould  plainly  see  its  strange,  glittering  eyes,  motionless  in  their  re 
pose  ;  and  she  felt,  as  all  do  on  looking  into  the  eyes  of  the  brute 
creation,  a  mixture  of  dread  and  wonder,  as  if  one  sought  to  pene 
trate  the  mystery  of  its  being,  learn  what  were  its  thoughts,  if  any 
it  had,  while  looking  back  into  the  depths  of  a  human  eye.  There 
ta  something  so  oppressive  in  that  half-animal,  half-intelligent  ex 
pression,  that  tempts  one  to  believe  in  the  doctrine  of  metempsycho- 
asjasif  those  huge  and  uncouth  forma  concealed  the  imprisoned 
souls  of  the  unhappy,  who  thus  look  mutely  from  their  prison-hosses, 
Co  ask  of  us  sympathy  and  condolence. 

CHAPTER  IV. 
A  youth  as  tall,  as  straight  as  I, 
As  quick  a  quarry  to  descry  : 
A  hunter  skilful  in  the  chase, 
As  ever  moccasin  did  lace. — HOFFMAN. 

WHEN  Minaree  raised  the  entrance  to  her  cabin  the  next  morning, 
a  parcel,  rolled  in  the  thinnest  bark  of  the  birch  tree,  and  tied  with 
wampum,  lay  at  the  threshold,  with  a  boquet  of  fresh  water  lilies 
Sh&brought  them  to  the  ceuch  of  Margaret,  saying,  "Tecumseh 
woojd  take  away  the  light  of  my  eyes." 

llargaret  smiled  mournfully,  and  a  blush  ttole  upon  her  cheek. 
She  andiclthe  parcel.  It  was  a  robe  of  delicate  feathers,  exquisitely 
wrpoght.  She  looked  upon  the  inside,  and  beheld  a  small  turtle 
paiated  upon  the  lining,  with  a  rattlesnake  sleeping  upon  a  rock. 
Tli*  device  told  her  it  was  from  the  hand  of  Kumshaka,  for  the  token 
af  Tecumseh  would  have  been  the  same  animal  in  the  act  to  spring 

Minaree  seemed  gratified  at  the  mistake — "  Kumshaka  will  help 
to  paddle  the  canoej  and  .gather  in  the  corn — he  will  smile  in  his 
cabin,  and  talk  with  his  children.  He  is  a  good  hunter,  and  much 
w^ispn  will  be  found  in  his  wigwam." 

The  girl  ree'uclosed  the  parcel,  and,  sinking  carelessly  upon  her 
«Dueh,  desired  Minaree  to  carry  it  {o  the  cabin  of  the  donor.  The 
tyoman  looked  disappointed ;  but  so  accustomed  was  she  to 
acquiescence  to  the  wishes  of  Margaret,  that  she  did  so  now 
mechanically. 

Henry  JMansfield  was  the  first  to  observe  the  package  at  the  cabin 
his  host,  and  his  knowledge  of  Indian  customs  at  once  re 
the  secret. 

'«\Vhat!  Kumshaka  rejected  by  the  maidens  !  Had  it  been  Elis- 
kwatawa,  or.Tecumseb,  I  should  not  marvel— or  even  myself;  but  I 


thought  Kumshaka  the  idol  of  the  girls  of  his  tribe, 
name  of  the  cruel  fair  one.' 


Tell  me  the 


The  youth,  though  evidently  annoyed  at  the  raillery  of  hiscompa 
Moa,  could  not  resist  the  flattery  it  implied,  and  he  walked  before  the 
dosr  with  his  arms  folded,  occasionally  glancing  complacently  at  his 
own- fine  proportions,  and  the  trinkets  that  adorned  them. 

**•  Tell  me  the  name  of  the  cruel  fa.ir,  and  she  shall  never  have  bead 
or  ribbon  from  the  hands, of  Henry  Mansfield.  Even  the  Swaying 
Rasd,  proud  AS  she  seems,  «ould  not  resist  a  gift  like  this,  and  from 
gudfa  a  giver." 

•f  The  Swaying  Reed,  like  my  two  brothers,  lives  in  the  greatness 
«f  her  own  thoughts.  Few  would  dare  seud  gifts  to  her  cabin.  She 
is  too  proud  and  too  beautiful  for  love." 

So  saying,  he.  threw-. a  quiver  of  arrows  over  his  shoulder,  and 
1  into  the  forest.  The  day  .was  one  of  unclouded  beauty— the 


reclined  upon  the  margin  of  the  streams  where  the  trees  clustered 
i  thickly ;  and  a  solitary  panther  had  stretched  itself  upon  a  huge 
[limb  of  an  oak,  its  claws  retracted,  its  head  upon  its  paws,  and  its 
terrible  eyes  winking  with  the  quietude  of  a  cat.  Instantly,  as  the 
[  chief  perceived  it,  she  raised  her  head,  and  began  to  rip  the  bark 
!  with  her  talons,  for  instinct  had  revealed  the  presence  of  a  foe. 
;  The  chief  adjusted  an  arrow,  without  once  moving  his  eyes  from 
j  those  of  the  beast,  and,  true  to  the  skill  of  years,  it  leapt  to  its  very 
I  heart.  The  panther  sprang  forward  with  a  fierce  and  appalling  roar, 
i  that  waked  up  the  silent  echoes,  and  sent  terror  to  the  hearts  of  the 
[feeble.  Kumshaka  had  sprung  to  one  side,  and  he  watched  the  im 
potent  rage  and  the  frightful  writhings  of  its  dying  agony  with  a  sense 
of  delight.  In  his  own  rage  and  disappointment,  the  repose  of  na 
ture  appalled  him  ;  but  his  own  hand  had  produced,  in  its  stead,  a 
state  akin  to  himself,  and  the  consciousness  gave  him  joy.  If  he 
might  never  win  the  love  of  the  Swaying  Reed,  his  was  the  power 
at  least  of  causing  her  the  pangs  of  suffering.  If  she  loved  not  him, 
wo  to  whomsoever  might  win  her  love.  The  vengeance  of  Kum 
shaka  might  never  slumber.  He  would  pursue  them  with  his  hatred 
till  life  should  be  a  burden  of  misery.  For  her  sake,  too,  others  of 
her  sex  should  know  the  agony  that  unrequited  love  can  inflict ;  and 
his  eye  kindled  as  he  thought  of  one,  the  beauty  of  the  tribe,  who 
had  long  loved  him  in  vain.  He  took  an  intense  delight  in  dwelling 
jupon  all  that  aggravated  his  own  sense  of  misery,  because  it  assured 
'him  that  Ackoree  had  suffered  the  same. 

In  the  two  days  that  intervened  between  his  arrival  in  the  village, 
!and  the  departure  of  the  chiefs  for  Vincennes,  Mansfield  found  abun 
dance  of  amusement  among  the  simple  inhabitants.  A  few  trinkets 
and  yards  of  gay  ribbon  established  him  as  a  fav? rite,  and  gave  him 
access  to  every  wigwam. 

Observing  a  group  of  maidens  seated  in  a  thicket  on  the  verge  of 
the  river,  plaiting  baskets,  he  joined  them,  and  witnessed  the  grace 
and  ease  of  their  motions.  At  a  little  distance,  the  eldtrly  ma 
trons  were  engaged  in  coarse  work  of  the  kind,  their  children  creep 
ing  about  in  the  green  grass,  or  crawling  to  the  water  side,  where 
they  splashed  it  about  with  bursts  of  noisy  merriment.  The  air  was 
excessively  sultry,  and  the  inhabitants  were  mostly  gathered  on  the 
banks  of  the  stream,  where  a  light  wind  broke  it  into  ripples.  A 
boy  of  some  dozen  years  appeared  sustaining  the  feeble  steps  of  a 
woman,  nearly  blind, and  bowed  with  age.  He  assisted  hergc-ntly  to  a 
seat  in  the  shade,  and  disappeared  amid  murmurs  of  approbation. 
"He  will  be  the  glory  of  Jus  tribe.  Children  shall  learn  goodrtesa 
from  him,  and  wisdom  shall  be  found  in  his  path,"  with  similar  ex 
clamations,  were  on  every  lip. 

Mansfield  looked  about,  and  almost  blushed  at  the  color  of  his  own 
jskin.  '"  This  is  the  people,"  he  thought,  "  whom  our  nation  regard 
;  with  so  much  abhorrence;,  and  hunt  from  the  earth.  Surely  the  lan- 
Iguage  of  the  Savior  may  not  be  inapplicable  to  them — '  The  foxes 
;  have  holes,  and  the  birds  of  the  air  hive  nests,  but  the'  poor  Indian 
!rhath  not  where  to  lay  his  head.'  What  is  the  value  of  a  territory  to 
us,  compared  with  the  infringement  of  rights  we  are  bound  to  re 
spect,  and  local  attachments  that  ought  to  excite  our  reverence  1  A 
country  based  upon  injustice  can  never  prosper.  The  blood  of  the 
red  man  will  call  from  the  ground  as  did  that  of  Abel  of  old,  and  wo 
to  us  when  the  great  Parent  shall  deman3,  '  where  is  thy  brother  V  " 
Oppressed  with  these  reflections,  the  gaily  of  the  girls,  pursuing 
their  light  employment,  graied  upon  his  feelings,  aud  he  regarded 
them  with  emotions  similar  to  those  which  a  spectator  must  feel  at 
the  cheerfulness  of  one  about  to  be  Jed  forth  to  execution.  There 
.was.  so  mach  of  ease  and  abandonment  to  the  quiet  happiness  of  the 
moment  in  all  their  looks  and  manners,  that  it  would  seem  asif  care 


CAPTIVE/ 


mark,  and  low,  musical  laugh  relieved  without  disturbing  their  vo- 1 
luptuous  indolence,  and  only  lent  a  new  grace  to  the  softness  of  the 
lip.     The  careless  play  of  the  small  fingers  seemed  rather    in  obedi- 
ence  to  an  instinct  of  nature,  than  an  effort  of  the  will. 


Margaret  had  just  completed  a  small  basket  of  exquisite  color  and  | 
finish,  when  she  presented  it  to  Mansfield,  saying,  "  Let  this  remind 
the  white  man  that  peace  is  to  be  found  in  an  Indian  wigwam." 

Kunuhaka  was  leaning  against  the  bole  of  a  tree,  bitterly  regarding 
the  group  about  him,  when  the  action  and  voice  of  Margaret  arouse  d 
him,  and  he  turned  his  fierce  eyes  upon  her,  and  a  scowl  lowered 
upon  his  brow.  Margaret  was  unmoved,  except  perhaps  a  prouder 
expression  grew  upon  her  lip,  and  a  slight  look  of  defiance  gleamed 
from  beaeath  the  dark  lashes  of  her  eye. 

"  Beautiful,  mysterious  girl,"  broke  unconsciously  from  the  lips  of 
the  youth.  Margaret  returned  his  impassioned  look  with  one  of  cold 
indj^erence,  aad  the  blush  that  faded  from  her  cheek  gave  place  to 
a  fearful  paleness,  and  a  sharp  expression  of  suffering.  Conscious  of 
his  error,  awed  by  the  simple  majesty  of  the  girl,  and  yet  desirous  to 
return  some  token  of  remembrance,  he  took  a  small  hoop  of  gold 
from  his  finger,  and  with  a  manner  most  provokingly  and  unaccount 
ably  awkward,  begged  she  would  wear  it  for  his  sake.  Margaret 
withdrew  her  hand,  and  bending  her  head  over  the  osiers  in  her  lap, 
replied,  "The  Swaying  Reed  takes  her  gifts  only  from  the  Great 
Spirit,  but  a  drop  hath  fallen  upon  the  fountain  of  her  heart  to  re 
main  there  for  ever." 

Moved  in  spite  of  himself,  he  turned  away  and  beheld  Kumshaka 
bending  over,  as  if  to  catch  the  very  breathing  of  the  beautiful  girl, 
and  his  countenance  expressive  of  the  most  intense  pleasure.  Mar 
garet  had  witnessed  the  same  thing,  but  she  gave  no  token  of  h«r 
consciousness.  A  moment  more,  and  the  proud  and  gratified  chief 
stood  erect,  and  was  carelessly  replying  to  some  light  remark  of  a  j 
forest  girl.  Mansfield  at  once  understood  the  secret  of  his  evasion  ! 
in  regard  to  the  history  of  the  girl.  When  Margaret  rose  to  return 
to  her  cabin,  he  followed  by  her  side,  hoping  to  ascertain  something 
of  her  history,  and  certainly  with  an  indefinite  wish  that  she  should 
be  rescued  from  her  woodland  life,  and  be  restored  to  society.  Mar 
garet  moved  on  with  her  cold  and  calm  manner,  scarcely  glancing  at 
her  companion. 

When  they  reached  the  arbor  of  vines,  she  paused  for  a  moment, 
and  then  motioned  him  to  the  wicker-chair,  while  she  remained 
standing.  The  young  man,  too  courteous  to  permit  this  seated  him 
self  upon  the  turf,  and  she  occupied  the  rejected  seat.  More  than 
once  he  attempted  to  break  the  awkwardness  of  silence,  but  the 
large  dark  eyes  of  the  girl,  fixed  upon  his  face,  and  the  composure 
with  which  she  regarded  him,  operated  like  a  spell  Of  all  the 
pretty  nothings  that  had  hitherto  crowded  upon  his  lips,  not  one  would 
come  at  his  bidding. 

"  The  white  youth  has  forgotten  the  purpose  of  his  coming,"  at 
length  said  the  maiden. 

"  No,  no  ;  but  I  know  not  how  to  say  it — you  are  not  one  of  this 
people,  your  looks,  manner,  all  betray  it — Can  I  not  procure  your 
release  1  Will  you  not  return  to  the  settlements— I— I — " — he 
blushed  and  hesitated — at  this  moment  a  sharp  whizzing  cut  the  air, 
and  an  arrow  quivered  in  the  truuk  of  the  tree  just  above  his  head 
Mansfield  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  looked  forth ;  nothing  was  visible 
— ashamed  at  his  perturbation  at  what  might  have  been  entirely  ac 
cidental,  he  returned  to  the  arbor.  Margaret  retained  her  position 
unmoved,  and  a  careless  smile  rested  upon  her  lips. 

"  The  white  man  is  safe,"  said  the  girl,  "  the  arrow  was  only  sent  in 
warning.  The  Swaying  Reed  is  beloved  by  the  tribe,  and  non- 
may  dare  to  take  her  away.  She  is  her  own  mistress,  and  goes  and 
comes  at  the  bidding  of  none." 

"  But  you  are  not  one  of  them — I  heard  you  called  Margaret,  and 
your  looks  are  not  such  as  to  deceive.  The  white  mother  weeps  for 
her  lost  child,  and  children  miss  her  at  their  sports.  Can  the  white 
girl  be  happy  here,  away  from  her  people  1  Let  me  seek  out  her  i 
parents  and  restore  them  their  child." 

While  the  youth  uttered  this  in  a  deep  earnest  voice,  the  maiden 
fixed  her  sorrowful  eyes  upon  his  face,  and  there  was  a  slight  quiver 
ing  of  the  lip,  betraying  the  presence  of  emotion.  But  she  did  not 
interrupt  him,  or  change  her  position  of  tranquil  indifference ;  and  j 
yet  she  seemed  to  listen,  pleased  at  the  language  of  her  own  people. 
"None  are  left  to  mourn  for  the  Swaying  Reed.  Blood  hath 
swallowed  the  fire  from  her  hearth-stone.  None  will  weep  for  her. 
She  is  happy  with  he'  red  people.  The  Great  Spirit  is  here  in  the 
solitude  of  the  woodsto  take  care  of  her;"  and  she  arose  to  depart. 
Mansfield  took  her  hand  respectfully.  "  But,  maiden,  there  is  a 
voice  powerful  alike  in  the  forest  or  city— the  Indian  will  lay  hie 


offerings  at  the  door  of  your  cabin,  and  who  will  counsel  the  Ion. 
girl  7  who  will  protect  her  1  " 

Margaret  withdrew  her  hand—  one  instant  her  ey«s  fell  beneatk 
his,  and  a  burning  blush  mantled  her  cheek;  then  she  raised  them  fa) 
the  blue  sky,  panted  upward,  aad  was  gone.  A  low  laugh,  uttered 
at  the  very  ear  of  the  youth,  caused  him  to  turn,  and  he  beheld  the 
glittering  eyes  of  Kumshaka,  peering  ihr6ugh  the  leaves  of  OK 
vine. 

"Doth  the  honey  of  the  white  lips  sink  into  the  heart  of  the  fore* 
The  Swaying  Reed  is  no  white  maiden  to  be  lured  by  smootk 
words.  She  has  no  love  for  gay  robes  and  trinkets—  and  turu 
away  from  the  spoils  of  the  chase-even  the  scalps  ef  war  may  not 
win  her  She  has  a  great  soul.  She  looks  all  night  upon  the  stara. 
and  will  tell  us  their  language.  When  the  Great  Spirit  layeth  his 
broad  shield  over  the  mooa,  at  her  prayers  he  moves  it  aside  little 
by  little,  till  it  is  left  to  shine  again  and  light  us  to  the  chase.  Whe» 
the  star  with  its  long  fiery  train  appeared  in  the  sky,  she  warned  •• 
that  war  and  bloodshed  should  appear.  My  brothers  ask  coutael  of 
the  maiden,  for  strange  wisdom  is  upon  her  lips—  but  love  hath  M 
place  in  her  heart." 

The  chief  had  leaned  against  tke  smooth  bole  of  a  tree,  and  gave 
utterance  to  his  thoughts  in  a  low  and  measured  cadence,  like  ont 
communing  with  himself. 

Mansfield,  baffled  and  perplexed,  full  of  a  strange  interest  in  tke 
mysterious  maiden,  so  gifted  and  beautiful,  and  throwing  the  power 
of  her  own  greatness  over  the  strange  people  who  had  adopted  her, 
turned  away  from  the  chief  almost  with  abhorrence,  while  he  thu 
acknowledged  his  attachment  for  one  so  unlike  himself.  He  felt  as 
if  the  very  circumstance  of  her  having  awakened  an  attachment  i* 
such  a  mind,  unrequited  though  it  evidently  was,  were  like  a  stain 
upon  her  purity.  All  the  virtues  and  accomplishments  of  the  chief 
were  so  many  crimes,  when  the  possibility  occurred  to  his  mind, 
hat  they  might  at  some  time  plead  in  his  behalf  to  the  heart  of  the 
white  girl. 

CHAPTER  V. 
Love  knoweth  every  form  of  air, 

And  every  shape  of  earth, 
And  conies,  unbidden,  everywhere, 

Like  thought's  ray  steriou  s  birth  !—  WILLII. 

HUMAN  passions  are  the  same  everywhere,  whether  amid  the 
plendors  of  a  palace  or  the  homeliness  of  a  savage  wigwam.  la 
he  one,  the  conventionalisms  of  polite  society  prompt  to  their  con 
cealment;  in  the  other,  the  subtle  motives  of  reveage,fpolicy  or  pride, 
produce  the  same  result.  Love  is  everywhere  the  tyrant,  and  hii 
supremacy  is  everywhere  acknowledged.  The  delicate  girl,  wh«ae 
bosom  swells  beneath  its  silken  boddice,  and  whoe«  tears  wet  her 
embroidered  pillow  —  whose  jewelled  brow  throbs  beneath  the  dainty 
hand  that  supports  it  ;  is  moved  by  the  same  passion  that  sways  the 
untutored  girl  in  the  solitude  of  the  overhanging  woods,  with  her 
heaving  breast,  swelling  its  zone  of  shells  and  robe  of  miniver.  The 
smile  of  hope  is  the  same  —  the  fear,  the  doubt,  the  long  deep  agony 
of  despair  are  one  and  the  same.  L;t  the  mystery  of  the  heart  be 
wrought  out  where  it  may  —  its  hopes,  its  fears,  :-s  passions  are  the 
same.  It  might  not  be  difficult  to  imagine  the  whole  universe  one 
mighty  heart,  with  its  great  throbbing*,  its  rapid  pulsations,  it» 
breathless  pauses,  and  its  flood-gates  of  passions  ;  and  each  separate 
person  a  miniature  resemblance  of  the  whole. 

As  the  day  declined,  on  which  Mansfield  held  his  interview  witfc 
Margaret,  she  sought  the  repose  and  coolness  of  the  river  bank,  for 
scarcely  a  breath  of  air  stirred  the  leaf  of  the  trees,  that  hung  mo 
tionless  upon  the  branches.  The  sky  was  without  a  cloud,  and  the 
red  rays  of  sunset  still  lingered  like  a  robe  of  crimson  in  the  wesC 
The  distant  hills  grew  blue  and  indistinct,  save  where,  at  the  weat, 
they  lay  bold  and  dark  against  the  sky,  and  one  tall  peak  hung  like 
a  white  cloud  in  the  horizon.  The  river  was  smooth  as  a  mirror  of 
steel,  and  every  object  upon  its  brink  was  penciled  upon  its  bosom 
with  a  softness  and  fidelity,  operating  like  fascination  upon  one, 
looking  down  upon  its  clear  depths.  A  solitary  water-fowl  had  sta 
tioned  himself  upon  a  rock,  and  so  still  and  motionless  did  he  remain, 
that  his  shadow  below  looked  like  the  reflection  of  a  sculptured 
bird,  standing  as  the  genius  of  the  place.  Margaret  descended  the 
verdant  bank,  for  so  luxuriant  was  the  soil  that  vegetation  continned 
to  the  very  brink  of  the  water,  every  stone  and  uncouth  root  bei  ig 
draped  with  its  heavy  coating  of  moss,  into  which  the  foot  pressed 
as  into  a  velvet  carpet-  Winding  round  th*  little  promontory  be« 
fore  mentioned,  the  river  widened,  forming  a  beautiful  basin, 
tered  by  tall  trees,  that  even  at  midday  cast  a  refreshing  gloom 


o»er 


8 


THE    NEW     WORLD. 


THE  WESTERN 


the  waters.  *  The  vine,  springing  from  amid  the  rocks  and  dipping 
its  roots  into  the  stream,  sent  forth  its  long  twisted  arms,  embracing 
the  old  trees,  and  mingling  its  cheerful  foliage  with  their  sombre 
hues;  then  springing  away  arch  above  arch,  presented  from  the  cen 
tre  of  the  basin  a  lofty  dome,  rising  far  above  its  bosom,  and  admit 
ting  occasionally  a  glimpse  of  the  blue  sky  through  the  clustering 
leaves.  A  bald  eagle,  that  had  stood  for  hours  upon  the  naked 
branch  of  a  gnarled  oak,  spread  forth  his  broad  pinions,  fanned  the 
air  slowly,  and  soared  off  into  the  thin  atmosphere,  as  if  the  hush  of 
the  earth  and  ?ky  had  been  too  deep  and  beautiful  for  him  to 
disturb. 

Margaret  descended  the  bank,  intending  to  seat  herself  upon  a 
shelf  of  the  rocks,  worn  by  the  action  of  the  water  at  the  time  of 
high  freshets  in  the  spring  of  the  year ;  but  a  light  splash  of  the  water, 
as  if  a  pebble  had  been  cast  into  it,  caused  her  to  look  over,  and  she 
beheld  the  place  occupied  by  Ackoree,  the  beauty  of  the  tribe,  who 
sat  collecting  the  pebbles  at  her  side,  and  casting  them  impatiently 
into  the  stream.  She  had  loosened  her  moccasons,  and  dipped  her 
feet  into  the  wat«r,  where  they  gleamed  up  from  beneath.  Her 
unbound  hair  also  floated  off  in  long  dark  threads,  sprinkling  the 
river,  and  as  she  stooped  over  the  water,  her  brilliant  eyes  looked 
up  with  wild  and  sparkling  radiance.  When  Margaret  stooptd 
over,  her  face  also  was  reflected  from  beneath.  Ackoree  turned  her 
head,  and  a  frown  darkened  her  brow.  Gathering  her  feet  from  the 
water,  and  wringing  the  drops  from  her  hair,  she  was  about  to  de 
part,  when  Margaret  detained  her.  "  The  white  girl  crosses  my 
path  everywhere,"  she  muttered  in  a  low  voice,  as  she  concealed  a 
string  of  coral  beads  beneath  her  robe. 

"  Nay,  Ackoree,  do  not  hide  them,  they  are  the  gift  of  the  youth 
from  the  white  settlements.  But  sit  here,  and  tell  me  why  you  call 
me  the  white  girl;  you  are  not  used  to  such  a  term." 

Ackoree  smiled  scornfully,  and  pointed  to  the  water  beneath, 
where  the  images  of  the  two  girls  were  reflected,  each  in  her  mar 
vellous  beauty  ;  the  one  tall  and  reed-like,  with  the  high,  round  fore 
head,  the  compact  features,  the  large  dark  eyes,  and  thin  chiselled 
nostril,  the  rich  hair  waving  in  long  curls,  and  that  air  of  sleeping 
passion  ;  which  contrasted  finely  with  the  angry,  almost  fierce,  ex 
pression  of  her  companion.  The  other,  less  in  height,  and  fuller  ia 
proportion,  with  her  long  jetty  hair  falling  in  heavy  masses  nearly 
to  her  feet,  and  her  figure  bent  over  to  the  stream,  the  eyes  flashing 
with  neir  terrible  beauty,  the  nostrils  dilated,  and  the  lip  parted  in 
scorn.  A  moment  they  stood  in  the  position  we  have  described,  and 
Ackeree  dropped  her  attitude  of  scornful  attention,  and  stooped  to  tie 
the  moccasons  upon  her  feet. 

"Ackoree,"  said  Margaret,  in  a  low  voice,  "  do  you  love  this 
white  stranger  V 

Ackoree  had  bent  upon  one  knee,  while  she  adjusted  the  mocca- 
eon,  and  she  now  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  Love  him !  what,  him  who  gives  tokens  to  all  the  maidens,  and 
then  seeks  out  the  girl  of  his  own  color  to  whisper  the  tale  of  his|! 
No :  Ackoree  is  too  proud  for  that." 


arrow  to  the  fawn  that  lieth  panting  at  the  stream,  already  pierced 
with  many  darts." 

'But  you  love  the  chief,  Kumshaka,"  interrupted  the  other 
eagerly. 

"  No,  never,  Ackoree — I  can  never  love  him.  Does  the  chief 
know  that  the  beautiful  Ackoree  regards  him  with  affection  1" 

The  girl  dropped  her  head  upon  her  bosom,  and  a  smile  stole  to 
her  lips.  She  did  not  reply,  but  the  string  of  coral  had  slipped  from 
its  coacealment,  and  a  part  of  it  lay  upon  her  bosom.  She  seized  it 
eagerly,  and  was  about  to  dash  it  into  the  water,  when  the  few  rays 
of  light  falling  upon  its  brilliant  color,  revived  that  native  love  for 
ornament,  so  predominant  in  the  sex,  of  whatever  condition,  and 
she  sat  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  it  for  a  moment,  and  then  threw  it 
over  the  neck  of  Margaret.  Her  companion  suffered  it  to  remain, 
and  Ackoree's  eyes  kindled  with  delight  as  the  rich,  deep  hue 
of  the  bauble  contrasted  with  the  fairness  of  her  neck  and  shoulders. 
And  then  it  would  seem  that  a  sudden  jealousy  awoke  in  her  mirl§, 
for  she  turned  her  head  and  half  whispered,"  Would  that  Ackoree 
were  as  fair." 

Margaret  restored  the  beads  to  the  neck  of  the  maiden,  and  they 
arose  from  the  shadow  of  the  wood,  each  with  a  lighter  heart.  Ac 
koree,  relieved  from  the  suspicion  that  Margaret  loved  Kumshaka; 
and  the  other,  rejoiced  to  learn  the  state  of  her  companion's  heart, 
as  she  thus  hoped  to  be  relieved  from  the  importunities  of  the  chief. 

CHAPTER  VI. 
I  look'don  ths  maiden's  rosy  cheek, 

And  her  lip  so  full  and  feright, 
And  I  sighed  to  think  that  the  traitor,  love, 

Should  conquer  a  heart  so  light.— MRS.  EMBCHT. 

THE  morning  had  arrived  on  which  the  embassy  to  Vincennes  was 
totake  its  departure.  The  area  in  front  of  the  village  presented  a 
scene  of  activity  and  preparation,  motley  in  the  extreme.  Tall  war 
riors  were  engaged  in  painting  their  bodies  in  the  most  formidable 
manner,  and  ornamenting  their  heads  with  decorations  warranted  by 
their  bravery  or  skill,  and  the  choicest  robes  were  brought  forth  for 
the  great  occasion.  War-clubs  and  spears,  bows  and  arrows,  all  in  the 
last  state  of  perfection,  were  piled  about,  and  the  long  mysstic  pipe, 
with  the  odorous  weed,  was  carefully  bestowed,  the  one  emblem  of 
peace  in  the  midst  of  all  warlike  preparations.  Pouches  filled  with 
dried  fruits  and  venison,  were  brought  forth  by  the  women,  as  pro 
vision  for  the  march ;  trusting  mostly,  however,  to  game  that  might 


love  1 

"Sit  by  me,"  said  Margaret,  "  and  I  will  tell  you  more  of  this." 
She  epoke  so  low  and  calmly,  that  the  girl  did  as  she  desired,  and 
looked  into  her  pale  face  with  an  expression  of  surprise. 

"  The  youth,  Ackoree,  is  one  of  my  own  people,  and  I  felt  a  strange 
sympathy  in  hearing  the  utterance  of  my  own  language,  but  I  do  not 
leve  him.  He  urged  me  to  return  to  my  people— but  he  spoke  not 
the  language  of  love.  Do  not,  Ackeree,  call  me  the  white  girl— do 
not  look  coldly  upon  me,  for  I  am  alone  with  your  people,  alone  on 
the  earth— there  is  none,  no,  not  one,  to  love  me"— and  the  tears 
gushed  through  the  long  slender  fingers  she  had  pressed  to  her  eyes 
Ackoree  was  softened,  and  pulled  the  wild  flowers  at  her  feet,  un 
conscious  of  what  she  did.  At  length  she  cried,  "  Margaret  is  too 
proud  to  love  one  of  the  red  men  ;  she  despises  the  warriors  of  the 
tribe." 

A  burning  blush  stole  over  the  face  of  Margaret,  and  she  turned 
her  eyes  from  the  scrutinizing  glance  of  her  companion.  In  a  mo 
ment  the  fierce  passions  of  Ackoree  were  awakened. 

"Aye,  I  see  it  all  j  the  Swaying  Reed  loves— but  revolts  at  the 
thought  of  dwelling  in  a  hunter's  cabin-of  being  the  wife  of  the  des 
pised  Indian.  Had  Kumshaka— been"— 

Margaret  laid  her  hand  gently  on  the  robe  of  Ackoree,  and  inhaled 

long  breath,  as  one  relieved  from  sudden  pressure. 

"  A<*oreeThear  me-     I  shall  never  be  a  wife.    The  Great  Spirit 

so  decreed     Am  I  not  adaughter  of  the  tribe  1    Hav,  I  not  been 

id  with  indulgence  and  reverence  1    Why  should  I  despise  those 

who  have  chenshed  me  1     Ackoree,  you  wrong  me.    You  send  an 


be  killed  on  the  way.  The  youth  indolently  watched  the  progress  of 
preparation,  while  the  boys  adorned  themselves  in  grotesque  imita 
tion  of  their  seniors;  amid  shouts  of  merriment  snapping  their  tiny 
bows,  discharging  arrows,  and  shaking  the  hoofs  of  the  wild  deer, 
while  they  advanced  and  retreated  in  semblance  of  battle,  raising 
with  shrill  voices  the  war-whoop  of  the  tribes.  Horses  tethered  in 
the  vicinity,  gave  notice  of  their  presence  by  loud  neighs  and  tramp 
ing,  that  swelled  the  tumult  of  preparation. 

The  dew  still  hung  upon  leaf  and  twig,  and  the  threads  of  the  spi 
der,  travelling  from  shrub  to  shrub,  swung  laden  with  gems,  glittering 


!in  the  morning  sun.     The  early  carol  of  the  birds  had   hardly  died 
'  away,  when  Tecumseh  gave  the  signal  to  commence  their  march. 

Tecumseh  appeared,  clad  in  that  stern  simplicity  which  accorded 
best  with  the  character  of  his  mind.  He  wore  neither  scalp  nor  co 
lored  quill ;  but  a  silky  robe  of  the  beaver,  girded  by  a  belt  of  wam 
pum,  hung  in  massive  folds  about  him,  in  its  simple  dignity,  resem 
bling  the  Roman  Toga.  Upon  his  helmet  appeared  the  plumes  and 
other  tokens  of  his  rank,  which  the  nobleman  of  the  woods  assumes 
as  testimonials  of  his  merit,  in  the  same  way  as  the  champion  of 
knighthood  binds  upon  his  person  the  various  insignia  of  the  orders 
to  which  he  has  been  admitted  ;  nor  would  the  unworthy  assumption 
of  the  one  excite  in  the  public  mind  more  contempt  and  indignation 
than  the  other. 

Slowly,  and  in  silence,  the  chiefs  moved  on— the  rays  of  the  morn 
ing  sun  lighting  up  the  jetty  crest,  and  playing  upon  feathery  robe 
and  pointed  spear.  Women  and  children  were  collected  to  witness 
their  departure  ;  and  on  a  rising  ground  might  be  seen  the  tall  form 
of  the  Prophet,  spreading  out  his  arms  with  the  skin  of  the  rattle 
snake  aloft,  and  chanting  a  song,  the  burden  of  which  seemed  to  be 
death  to  the  violators  ef  oaths.  The  deep  measured  cadences  came 
upon  the  ear  of  the  retreating  party  when  far  on  their  way— now  in 
low  gutteral  notes  of  sorrow,  now  prolonged  to  the  wail  of  heart 
rending  wo  ;  and  anon  rising  to  the  shrill  and  rapid  intonations  of 
triumph. 

Henry  Mansfield  lingered  behind  to  exchange  a  farewell  with  Mar 
garet,  and  to  urge,  if  possible,  her  return  to  the  settlements. 


CAPTIVE. 


THE    NEW     WORLD. 


She  laid  her  hand  within  his,  saying,  "  May  peace  be  the  portion 
of  my  white  brother,"  and  was  about  to  depart. 

"  Stay  one  moment,"  said  the  young  man  ;  "  say  only  that  I  may 
use  my  influence  to  procure  your  release  ;  that  you  maybe  prevailed 
upon  to  return  to  the  settlements.  This  mode  of  life  must  be  revolt 
ing  to  you — say  only  that  you  will  return." 

"  Never,"  she  replied  ;  "  my  fate  is  fixed ;"  and  waving  adieu, 
she  suddenly  disappeared,  ju3t  as  the  glittering  eyes  of  Ackoree 
gleamed  through  the  shrubbery  that  surrounded  them. 

"Aye, "said  the  Indian  maiden,  "  the  white  girl  loves  the  red 
chief;  she  will  never  return  to  her  people — she  will  dress  the  veni- 
Bon  of  the  hunter,  and  work  his  moccasous.  Is  the  thought  sweet  to 
the  white  man"!"  and  she  laughed  a  bitter  and  taunting  Uugh. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  analyze  the  feelings  of  the  youth,  while  the 
beautiful,  but  fiend-like  girl,  gave  utterance  to  this  mixture  of  truth 
and  falsehood,  solely  as  it  would  seem  to  torture  her  hearer.  When 
she  ceased,  she  threw  the  string  of  coral  at  his  feet,  and  departed 
with  the  same  cruel  laugh. 

Henry  kicked  the  bauble  aside,  and  follewed  the  retreating  army 
with  a  listlessness  and  heaviness  of  feeling  which  he  in  vain  tried  to 
dispel.  He  was  not  in  love  ;  of  this  he  was  quite  sure :  she  was  too 
cold,  and  too  proud,  to  awaken  such  a  sentiment;  and  yet  this  very 
manner,  to  one  accustomed  to  the  smiles  of  ladies,  awakened  an  in 
terest  he  could  not  deny — the  stronger  it  may  be,  from  the  wounding 
of  his  self-love. 

From  his  own  sense  of  mortification,  it  became  easy  to  reproach 
the  cause  of  it ;  and  he  blamed  the  perversity  and  distortion  of  taste 


CHAPTER  VH. 

Oh,  woman  ;  lovely  in  thy  beauty's  power  ! 
Thrice  lovely  when  we  know  that  thou  canit  turn 
To  duty's  jiath  and  tread  it  with  a  smile.  Mm.  C.  OILMAN. 

WHEN  General  Harrison  invited  Tecumseh  and  the  Prophet  to 
i  meet  him  in  council  at  Vincennes,  he  expressly  stipulated,  that  they 
!  should  appear  with  but  few  followers  ;  a  request  which  probably 
would  have  been  complied  with,  had  it  not  been  for  the  knowledge 
of  Tecumseh  that  Winnemac  and  other  chiefs,  violators  of  the  oaths 
of  confederation,  had  sought  refuge  from  the  penalty  of  their  crime 
with  the  white  authorities  of  Vincennes.  Under  these  circumstances, 
he  chose  to  appear  with  a  force  sufficient  for  his  own  protection, 
and  to  awe  the  obnoxious  chiefs.  Accordingly  the  inhabitants  of 
the  country,  already  terrified  by  repeated  acts  of  violence,  which 
even  the  influence  of  Tecumseh  was  insufficient  to  prevent,  and 
which  the  crooked  policy  of  Winnemac  served  to  encourage,  were 
appalled  at  beholding  four  hundred  warriors,  painted  and  fully 
armed,  on  their  way  to  the  infdnt  city  of  the  west.  The  terrified  in 
habitants  closed  their  doors,  and  prepared  for  defence ;  workmen 
left  their  utensils  in  the  field,  »nd  sought  a  place  of  refuge  ;  children 
gathering  fruit  by  the  way  side,  might  be  seen  huddling  together  in 
mute  terror,  their  wild  eyes  gleaming  out  from  amidst  vines  or 
ihrubs  to  which  they  had  fkd  for  concealment. 

At  the  suggestion  of  Mansfield,  Tecumseh  encamped  his  army  in 
a  wood,  at  a  short  distance  from  the  city,  while  he  should  report 
their  arrival  to  General  Harrison. 

He  did  so  accordingly,  and  the  next  day  was  appointed  for  the 
holding  a  council.  In  the  meanwhile,  Mansfield  amused  himself  by 


Passing  in  the  neighborhood  of  one  of  the  houses  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  place,  he  was  attracted  by  the  peculiar  air  of  thrift  and  neat 
ness  evident  in  all  its  arrangements.     It  was  a  large  sized  log-build •• 
ly  constructed,  and  surrounded  by  an  enclosure  in  which 
of  all  kinds  were  growing  in  the  greatest  luxuriance. 
!  Woman's  taste  was  visible  in  the  rude  piazza  over  which  clustered 
~  'the  wild  vine,  and  the  abundant  sweet-brier  that  shaded  the  small 
windows,  draped  with  curtains  of  the  purest  white.  Morning-glories 


that  made  her  adhere  to  this  wild  life,  as  evidences  of  an  inherent  ||going  about  tlie  B<.uiement,  observing  the  changes  which  a  few 
depravity  of  mind.  But  then  came  up  the  image  of  her  calm,  sad||mon°hg  had  produced,  exchanging  congratulations,  and  becoming 
voice,  and  that  infinite  grace  and  dignity  of  manner,  that  seemed  to|)acquainted  with  many  who  had  recently  sought  protection  in  the 
act  as  a  spell  upon  all  who  approached  her,  awing  even  the  rudest  of  c;,y  .  for  ,he  news  Of  tne  great  number  of  warriors  collected  at  the 
the  tribe  into  respect  and  submission.  He  felt  the  suspicion  to  be  i  town  of  the  pr0phet,  had  spread  a  panic  throughout  the  countiy,  and 
as  unjust  to  her  as  it  was  unworthy  of  himself.  Giving  spurs  to  his  driven  many  frorn  their  insulated  farms  to  the  more  compact  settle- 
horse,  he  sought  to  lose  the  sense  of  depression  by  the  rapidity  of  i  ment  at  Vincennes.  The  humble  dwellings  ef  the  emigrants  were 
his  movements.  hospitably  opened  to  the  fugitives,  and  filled  to  overflowing. 

There  had  been  still  another  spectator  to  the  interview  we  have 
described.  Scarcely  had  Mansfield  retired  from  the  ground,  when 
Kumshaka  picked  up  the  beads  and  followed  the  retreating  youth 
with  his  eyes,  while  a  vindictive  smile  gathered  upon  his  counte 
nance.  Ackoree  was  at  his  side,  and  a  kindred  expression  grew 
upon  her  own. 

"  The  white  girl  delights  in  those  of  her  own  color, 
turn,  like  the  bird  lured  from   the  woods,  to  her  own  haun(s.     She 

does  well  to  talk  of  peace  to  the  red  man— it  is  to  save  her  own  JV"^^}  the'  shrubg>  and  the  charr.omile,  tansey,  wormwaod,  and 
people."  '!  other  medicinal  shrubs,  evinced  rural  skill  and  forethought.  In  the 

"True,  true,"  cried  the  chief;  and  he  looked  for  the  f  time. ^^  where  &  Jedge  of  rockg  broke  from  the  ricn  80il,  might  be  seen 
with  admiration  upon  the  cruel  girl,  whose  feelings  corresponded  so  i  pang' Of  brown  earthenware,  left  to  scald  in  the  sun.  Tubs  and  bowls 
well  with  his  own.  :  j  Of  wood>  rounded  at  the  angle?,  and  white  with  careful  scouring,  and 

Ackoree  saw  the  interest  she  had  awakened,  and  desirous  for'  the  snowy  churn  inverted,  with  its  dash  crossed  upon  the  bottom, 
sympathy  from  the  chief,  if  it  were  but  the  sympathy  of  revenge,  she    were  arranged  Up0n  a  neat  platform  of  raised  timber.     A  pole,  sup- 
continued  :  j  i  ported  by  two  upright  sticks  notched  at  the  top,  was  hung  with  long 
"Does  the  white  girl  love  the  white  youth  1  or  is  her  love  fixed    skejns  Of  blue  and  white  yarn,  and  a  young,  brisk-looking  woman 
upon  one  of  our  own  people  1"    And  then,  as  if  speaking  to  herself,  ( j  waa  sprinkling  water  upon  lines  cloth,  spread  to  bleach  in  the  sun. 
she  added,  "no,  she  despises  the  Indian.   It  is  well.  The  fawn  seeks  h     Henry  gtood  admiring  this  picture  of  rural  comfort,  drawing  up 
not  companionship  with  the  wolf ;  nor  the  fox  with  the  beaver-"    ,he  jmages  Of  the 'inhabitants  to  his  mind's  eye,  and  had  just  coc- 
Ackoree  fixed  her  bright  eyes  upon  those  of  the  chief,  and  slowly  i  vince[j  himself  that  the  fat,  curly-headed  babe  that  sat  in  the  door- 
dropped  the  lids,  while  a  sigh  stole  from  her  bosom.  i!  way,  now  patting  its  shapeless  hands  together,  and  crowing  to  the 
Whether  it  was  that  the  rejection  of  his  suite  had  extinguished  '  poul'try  tliat  cackled  about  the  door ;  now  venturing  on  all-fours  to 
his  attachmeat  for  Margaret,  or  the  beauty  of  Ackoree  had  made  its!  (he  wrge  of  the  white  s[\\t  antj  cautiously  reaching  over  to  tl 
impression  ;  whether  the  import  of  her  words,  while  they  half  re-  !  below  .  then  prud  nliy  retreating  at  the  vague  presentiment  of  t 
vealed  her  own  attachment,  had  also  produced  their  effect  upon  his    and  bruises  te  be  encountered  in  the  attempt  to  go  out,  muet 
judgment  and  fotacy,  or  all  combined  to  produce  the  result,  we  will ,,  property  Of  tne  young  woman  whom  he  had  seen  fpnnklin 
not  affirm.     Certain  it  is,  however,  that  as  the  chief  fixed  his  eyea,j  upoll  the  yam  .  when  out  rusned  a  little  urchin  of  some  h 
upon  the  speaking  face  of  the  girl,  it  was  with  an  expression  not  to  j;  yearg>  qtjUe  red  in  the  face,  and  looking  very  fierce  ani  c 
be  mistaken;  and  when  he  threw  the  rejected  coral  over  her  neck,  '  Hfi  WM  fo!low(.d  by  a  young  woman  of  perhaps 
Ackoree  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face  with  a  look  of  wild  dejight,  and    fineiy.mouided  features  and  graceful  air  struck  hi 
bounded  away  with  the  coyness  and  transparent  artifice  of  an  un-    [na  gengej  lhat  hc  had  seen  the  same  somewhere 
tutored  heart.     The  chief  bent  his  plumed  head  to  catch  the  last    b(Tcame  amU3ed  in  observing  the  little  scene  b. 
glimpse  of  her  retreating  figure,  and  then  speaking  to  himself,  said—    (Q  no(ice  the  girj 

"  True,  each  delights  only  in  its  kind.  But  let  the  Swaying  Reed 
dare,  to  love  another,  and  she  shall  know  the  vengeance  of  the  In 
dian.  Ackoree  is  most  beautiful,  but  she  has  not  the  loftiness  and 
wisdom  of  the  Swaying  Reed.  She  shall  bring  the  game  to  the  cabin 
of  Kumshaka.  He  will  sit  at  rest,  and  mark  the  glitter  of  her  eyes, 
and  the  white  girl  shall  sing  the  songs  of  her  people,  and  her  voice, 
choked  with  sobs,  will  be  like  the  sound  of  waters  in  the  still  night 
sad,  but  pleasant  to  the  ear." 


> 
The  ch.ld 


go_go  let  go  my  hand>  j  tell  you  ;  I  will  go 
yQU  can>t  gtop  me>» 

d  j  wm  tc),  you  a  s,oiy  aboul  thfm, 

knQW  you  Jove  me.» 

,  and  let  her  retain  his  hand,  though 
and  looked  with  open  mouth 
colorless. 


10 


THE      NEW     WORLD 


THE  WESTERK 


"  Tell  me  the  story  quick,  Ally,  for  I  mean  to  ge  soon  asyou'r 
done;  and  make  it  short,  Ally." 

"  No,  no  :  yeu  must  go  in  first." 

"I  won't,  I  won't;  let  go,  I  say  ;"  and  the  boy  jerked  away  his 
iand  and  ran  off  with  his  eyes  wide  open,  looking  back  at  Alice,  and 
ucreaming,  "  I  will,  I  will,"  at  the  top  of  his  lungs.  In  the  midst  of 
his  career  he  waa  arrested  by  a  sun-burnt,  cheerful-lookiag  farmer, 
ia  his  shirt-sleeves,  who  quietly  raised  him  from  the  ground  and 
awung  him  over  his  shoulders,  where  the  boy  hung,  his  feet  sticking 
straight  out,  and  his  face  red  and  swollen  in  his  impatient  struggles 
to  free  his  arms  from  the  man's  grasp. 

By  the  time  they  had  reached  the  door -step,  the  young  woman 
was  standing  there  with  water-pail  in  hand,  and.  her  naturally  good- 
natured  face  gathering  into  something  like  a  frown. 

"  That  boy  will  be  the  death  of  us  yet ;  he  wears  poor  Alice  to 
death,  with  his  tantrums." 

•'  Not  quite,"  said  the  father,  patting  her  cheek  playfully,  and 
glancing  at  the  grotesque  image  of  the  child  over  his  shoulder;  and 
then  swinging  the  baby  on  his  back,  he  seated  himself  en  the 
door-sill. 

The  young  woman  looked  on,  half  smiling,  and  yet  half  deter 
mined  to  be  pettish :  "  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Mr.  Mason,  if  that  was 
my  child,  I  would  whip  him  smartly  every  time  he  got  into  these 
tantrums,  till  I  broke  him  of  them." 

Mr.  Mason  very  gravely  brought  the  child  over  his  knee,  and  hold 
ing  his  clothes  tightly  down,  said,  "  There,  Anny,  there's  a  chance 
for  you ;  pay  on  well." 

Instantly  the  buzz  of  a  small  linen-wheel  was  suspended,  and  a 
thin,  wrinkled  old  lady,  with  her  spectacles  pinning  back  the  border 
of  her  white  cap,  appeared  upon  the  scene. 

Holding  up  her  shrivelled  hand,  with  an  attitude  of  defiance,  she 
cried  in  sharp  broken  tones— 

"  Let  her  lay  the  weight  of  her  hand  upon  the  child  of  my  poor 
Mary,  and  she  will  rue  the  day.  And  you,  John  Mason,  is  it  you 
that  can  so  soon  forget  the  love  of  a  father  1"  and  she  half  spoke 
and  half  shouted  in  a  cracked  voice,  and  with  a  taunting  smile  about 
If  r  mouth, 

"  A  mother's  a  mother  all  the  days  of  her  life— 
A  father's  a  father,  till  he  gets  a  new  wife." 


heed  to  yourself,  I  say  :"  and  she  began  to  sing  the  old  song  of  Lady 
Isabella's  tragedy,  in  a  shrill  cracked  voice,  selecting  it  would  seem, 
those  verses  in  which  the  obnoxious  word,  step-mother,  most  fre 
quently  occurred,  groaning  out  the  syllables  with  peculiar  zest. 

"  Therefore  her  cruel  step-mother 

Did  envye  her  so  much,      * 
That  daye  by  daye  she  sought  her  life, 
Her  malice  it  was  such. 

She  bargained  with  the  master-cook 

To  take  her  life  awaye  ; 
And  taking  of  her  daughter's  book 

She  thus  to  her  did  saye." 

After  leaping  over  the  intermediate  stanzas,  she  broke  out  ia  a 
|  shriller  voice  at  the  scene  where  the  bereaved  Lord  returns  from  the 
| chase,  and  calls  for  "his  daughter  deare  to  come  and  serve  his 
jmeate  ;"  and  when  she  is  nowhere  to  be  found,  he  vows  to  neither 
j  eat  nor  sleep  until  she  is  forthcoming.  At  this  crisis,  the  old  lady 
i  recommenced — 

"  O  then  bespoke  the  scullicn-boye, 

With  a  loud  voice  so  hye, 
If  now  you  will  your  daughter  see, 
Pray  Sir,  cut  up  that  pyc  ; 

Wherein  her  flesh  is  Evinced  smail, 

And  parched  with  the  fire  ; 
All  caused  by  her  step-mother, 

Who  did  her  death  desire." 

From  this  she  jumped  to  the  catastrophe,  which  was  screamed  out 
with  a  peculiar  tone  of  satisfaction. 

"  Then  all  in  blacke  this  lord  did  mourne  ; 

And  for  his  daughter's  sake, 
He  judged  her  cruel  step-mother 

To  be  burnt  at  the  stake." 

All  this  time  poor  Anna's  tears  were  falling  upon  the  cheek  of  her 
babe,  and  Jimmy,  lulled  by  the  monotony  of  the  tune,  and  uncon 
scious  of  its  import,  had  fallen  asleep  upon  her  lap.  Mr.  Mason 
having  quietly  drawn  the  door  to,  was  saying  all  that  kindness  could 
dictate  to  soothe  the  outraged  feelings  of  his  wife,  who  tried  to 
smile,  in  spite  of  the  pain  she  experienced. 

Henry  retired,  wonderifig  at  the  strange  perversity  of  the  human 
heart,  thus  wantonly  to  dash  the  cup  of  happiness  from  the  lips  of 
another,  because  it  has  ceased  to  be  mingled  for  ourselves.  He 
thought  of  the  apparently  unfavorable  position  for  the  growth  in 
virtue  in  the  little  group  he  had  seen,  and  yet  here  were  all  the  evi 
dences  of  its  existence.  He  had  witnessed  tenderness,  and  forbear 
ance  under  provocations,  trifling,  it  is  true  in  themselves,  but  yet 


All  this  time  she  was  pulling  vigorously  at  the  child,  who  clung  to 
its  father's  knee  with  the  tenacity  of  a  young  bear. 

"  Don't,  Grandmarn,  don't,"  said  Anny,  observing  a  shade  of  dis 
pleasure  upon  the  face  of  her  husband.  "  Nobody  want's  to  hurt 
the  child,  do  let  him  alone." 

"  No,  and  nobody  shall  hurt  him,  mind  that,  Ann  Spaulding,  mind  the  more  galling  from  their  very  littlene£S>  and  their  frequency  of 
that,"  hissed  out  the  old  woman,  giving  a  desperate  pull  at  the  boy  !  recurrence.  We  arm  ourselves  with  fortitude  for  the  endurance  of 
that  laid  them  both  upon  the  floor.  The  child  sprang  to  his  feet  |jgrcat  trials'  and  glory'  il  may  be>  in  tribulations>  as  the  test  of  our 
»nd  ran,  but  not  till  the  grandmother,  enraged  at  the  accident  and  power  and  the  evidence  of  our  virtue  5  but  h  is>  after  all>  in  the  con- 
the  perversity  of  the  child,  had  applied  a  well-aimed  blow  upon  his  !  stant>  everv'day  trials  of  life> that  the  real  excellence  of  the  character 
shoulders,  whi  ch  quickened  his  speed,  and  sent  him  to  the  door  !  is  to  be  tried>  Few  are  called  to  heroic  acts  of  virtue'  but  a11  suffer 
step,  where  he  susked  in  his  breath,  and  burst  into  a  sort  of  hysterical '< :  more  or  less  the  daily  mart>'rdom  of  life-  Ie  is  P™babJe  that  virtue 
laugh.  i  assumes  a  more  distinct  and  positive  character  in  the  midst  of 

Anny  drew  him  toward  her,  and  gently  smoothed  his  hair    and 'hindrances,  and  therefore  all  the   obstacles  it  meets  ia  its  progress 
thislast  winding  up  of  the  affair  in  his  behalf,  produced  one  of 'those1  ontribute  to  its  development. 
strange  reactions  te  which  we  are  all  liable,  and  the  little  fellow  laid  '.     While  the  youth  m  homeward,  philosophizing  as  he  went, 


kia  head  in  her  lap,  and  burst  into  sobs  and  tears. 


some  trifle  broke  the  thread  of  his  reflections,  and  presented  to  his 


Mr.  Mason  laid  his  arm  over  the  shoulder  of  his  young  wife  and  fancy  the  image  °f  the  fair  gul  wh°  had  first  aPPeared  in  the  cottage 
began  to  tickle  the  cheek  of  the  babe  as  it  drew  its  nourish ment'from  ;  scene>  H*r  air  and  countenance  haunted  him  with  a  strange  con 
ker  bosom,  kicking  its  feet  and  winking  its  bright  eyas  in  efforts  to '  vlctlon  lhat  he  had  S6en  somethlll°  analagous  somewhere,  but  when 
repel  the  approach  of  slumber.  lastantly  the  child  sprang  from  its '  or  where  he  could  D0t  fix  Up°n  his  memory-  He  ^traced  his  steps 
iccumbent  position,  sending  the  white  fluid  over  the  face  of  little  '  to  the  cotta8e>  h°P'nS  to  catch  a  ShmP£e  of  the  unknown,  and  thus 
Jimmy,  who  was  about  to  sob  himself  to  sleep,  and  Jimmy's  griefs;' to  restore  the  links  of  association. 

were  at  once  forgotten  ;  he  buried  his  he?.d  in  the  baby's  lap,  and  As  he  neared  the  dwelling,  he  saw  the  old  lady  seated  upon  the 
they  tickled  and  struggled  together,  while  the  parents  looked  on  <*oor-sill  alone>  while  from  v-'it"in  were  heard  the  vigorous  play  of 
with  a  quiet  smile. 

•'  I  do  wish  she  wouldn't  call  me  Ann  Spaulding,"  said  the  wife 
alow  voice  to  her  husband. 

Now,  whether  the  old  lady's  senses  were  in  reality  keener  than  ;  a  smi!e  lurked  at  the  corners  of  her  thin  lips,  that  seemed  to  say, 
what  she  was  always  willing  to  allow,  or  whether  her  passion  had  i  is  no  Hesn  aEd  blood  of  mine :  letit  cry>" 
stimulated  them  to  unwonted  activity,  or  whether  there  is  really  a  Presently  Mr.  Mason  and  his  wife  appeared,  each  bearing  pails  of 
consciousness  in  the  individual  when  he  is  the  subject  of  remarks !  i  milk  filled  to  the  brim' tne  subsidin§  foam  bubbling  upon  the  surface. 
from  others,  as  the  common  opinion  seems  to  countenance,  we  will  Allce  walked  b>'  lne  Slde  of  Mr3'  Mason>  carrying  a  small  pail  con- 


the  infant's  lungs,  holding  its  breath,  and  then  relieving  itself  with 
those  reiterated  screams  that  seem  to  challenge  instant  attention;  but 
the  old  ckme  listened  with  great  composure,  if  not  satisfaction,  for 

It 


not  stop  to  consider  ;  but  no   sooner  had  Anne  made  the  remark 
than  the  old  lady  cried  out  from  the  wheel— 

"  Mind  how  you  talk  about  me,  Ann  Spaulding.     I  shall  call  you 
by  your  name.     You've  no  right  to  the  title  of  my  poor  Mary,  four 

she  was  cold,  and  the  grass  could  take  root  over  her  coffin.    Take  !  son  was  about  to  comply  with  his  request,  when  the  sound  of  her 


taiaing  what  is  technically  called  the  'strippings,'  being  the  last 
milk  of  the  aaimal  when  the  more  abundant  supply  has  been  ex 
hausted. 

Accosting  them  with  that  freedom  tolerated  in  new  communities, 
Mansfield  desired  a  drink  of  the  milk  to  allay  his  thirst.     Mrs.  Ma- 


CAPTIVE. 


THE    NEW     WOR 


child's  cries  fell  apon  her  ear,  and  she  set  down  her  pail  and  started 
upon  a  full  run  to  the  house. 

Alice  prssented  her  pail  to  the  stranger,  with  a  slight  blush  upon 
her  cheek ;  and  to  his  grateful  acknowledgments  she  returned  a 
graceful  inclination  of  the  head,  and  a  smile,  the  composure  of  which 
again  perplexed  him  as  something  he  had  seen  elsewhere.  While 
making  these  observations,  he  had  time  to  notice  the  roundness  of  j 
the  white  arm,  bare  to  the  elbow,  and  the  delicate  symmetry  of  the 
figure,  simply  clad  in  a  blue  gingham  frock,  so  exactly  fitting,  that 
the  elegance  of  the  bust  became  visible,  notwithstanding  the  hirh 
drapery  that  concealed  all  but  the  white  throat.  Her°hair  wls 
combed  nearly  plain  from  the  forehead,  and  braided  upon  the  back, 
two  glossy  curls  being  left  to  fall  behind  each  ear. 

Mr.  Mason  had  placed  his  pails  upon  the  grass,  and  was  ready 
to  start  off  upon  any  topic  which  might  be  broached ;  the  weather 
the  crops,  the  Indians,  or  what  not. 

"  Alice  is  a  nice  tidy  gal,"  said  he,  following  the  eyes  of  the 
youth. 

Henry  colored,  and  stated  his  perplexity  as  an  apology  for  ob 
serving  her. 

"  Very  like,"  said  the  other;  "it's  mighty  strange  to  me  how 
folks  that's  nowise  akin  will  look  so  alike.  In  the  same 'stock  its 
nowise  strange,  but  in  the  matter  of  strangers,  'tis  mighty  puzzlinV' 

Henry  assented,  and  added,  "And  yet,  the  greatest  mystery  after 
all,  is,  that  among  so  many  inhabitants  as  there  are  in  the  world,  all 
with  the  same  features,  there  should  be  such  infinite  combinations, 
all  resulting  in  individuality  of  form  and  expression." 

The  farmer  looked  a  little  perplexed,  though  he  had  certainly 
caught  the  idea. 

"  I'm  thinking,  sir,  it  is  because  the  great  Maker  never  is  at  a  loss. 
Look  at  the  leaves  upon  a  tree ;  you  will  never  see  any  two  alike, 


nor  any  two  blades  of  grass  with  the  same  streaks.  Now,  if  a  man 
makes  a  machine  for  any  purpose,  every  one  of  the  kind  is  after 
the  same  pattern,  and  just  like  it.  He  can't  change,  and  yet  have 
the  same  thing ;  but  God  can." 

"  Is  the  young  woman,  Miss  Alice,  a  relative  of  yours  1"  asked 
Mansfield,  after  a  pause;  feeling,  perhaps,  that  the  subject  was 
growing  a  little  too  philosophical. 

"  No,  no;  she's  an  orphan.  She  has  neither  kith  nir  kin  in  the 
whole  world.  They  were  all  killed  by  the  Ingins,  I  dare  say  you've 
heard  of  the  murder  of  the  Durand  family." 

A  sudden  flash  mantled  the  brow  of  Mansfield  at  the  recollection 
of  the  mysterious  maiden  he  had  seen  at  Tippecanoe,  and  the  like 
ness,  and  yet  unlikeness,  of  the  two  ;  for  nothing  could  be  more  dis 
similar  than  the  cold,  haughty  bearing  of  the  one,  contrasted  with  the 
winning  gentleness  of  the  of  the  other.  And  yet  there  was  the  same 
contour  of  features,  the  same  smile,  and  the  same  intonations  of 
voice. 

"  Are  you  quite  sure,  that  none  were  saved  ?  Might  not  a  part 
have  been  carried  into  captivity  1" 

"  No  :  they  were  all  butchered  ;  their  house  burnt  down,  and  their 
bodies  charred  like  cinders." 

Saying  this,  he  took  up  the  pails,  desiring  Henry  to  return  to  the 
house  with  him ;  adding,  "  but  you  must  not  say  anything  about 
this  conversation  to  poor  Alice,  for  it  has  gone  well-nigh  to  kill  her 
now.  And  here  are  these  painted  varmints  come  now  to  kill  us,  for 
what  I  know."  » 

Mansfield  excused  himself,  and  retired  ;  but  not  until  he  had  pro 
mised  to  pay  his  respects  again  to  the  family. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Tho  summer  sun  is  flaming  high — 

She  from  her  lattice  hangs, 
Piues  she  far  home  and  distant  lands 

With  disappointment's  pangs. — MRS.  SKJOURXEY. 

MR.  MASON  had,  some  years  before,  emigrated  to  the  west,  bring 
ing  with  him  a  young  and  affectionate  wife  and  her  mother:  for 
Mary  was  an  only  child,  and  she  could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to 
abandon  her  aged  parent.  The  infirmities  of  the  old  lady's  temper 
were  well  known  ;  but  Mary,  always  accustomed  to  them,  and  ha 
bituated  from  childhood  to  submission,  probably  feit  them  lesj  thin 
others;  and  the  less,  it  may  be,  because  her  mother  lavished  all  the  . 
affection  of  which  she  was  capable  upon  this,  her  only  child,  and  j 
the  only  object  left  to  love.  Mr.?.  Jones  was  always  ready  to  ar- 1 
raign,  in  set  terms,  any  omission  of  tenderness  on  the  part  of  othe-r?, ! 
while  she  reserved  the  whole  right  of  tormenting  her  to  herself,  being  I 
her  natural  parent. 

We  ought  to'havejincluded,  in  the  enumeration  of  the  goods  and  ' 


, 

grace  o   a  willing  mind.     Bar.  unfortunately,     e         w 
;  and  the  Imle  Anna  became  the  property  of  the  publ  c   and 

£    ;  matr°Bly  CharitiC3  °f  the  * 

tins  department  of  the  institution.     Here  she  was  t 

h       r^'  t0,d°  needlework'  and  P"form  .11  domestic  t 
and  being  of  a  cheerful  disposition,  and  quick  to  learn,  she  b* 
came  a  great  favorite.     When,  therefore,  Mr.  Mason  proposed  te 
her  into  his  own  family,  or,  in  other  words,  have  her'boa^T 
to  him  .until  the  age  of  eighteen,  the  good  woman  pari-d  with 
her  with  tears  m  her  eyes,  and  gave  her  a  Bible,  as  a  special  toke* 
of  her  good  will  and  approval. 

Anna  soon  became  as  much  a  favorite  in  the  family  of  Mr.  Maron, 
as  she  had  been  in  the  almshouse,  and  as  invaluable  in  household 
matters.  In  truth,  she  had  no  reason  to  find  fault  with  her  condition, 
if  we  except  the  trials  to  which  the  ill-humor  of  Mrs.  Jones  the 
mother  of  Mrs.  Mason,  subjected  her.  But  Anna's  goodness  of  heart 
was  proof  even  against  these,  and  she  was  never  known  to  rebel,  ex- 
c*pt  in  one  instance,  when,  after  years  of  submission  to  the  oppro 
brious  epithets  of  the  other,  she  one  day  declared  solemnly  she 
would  "  never  again—  no,  never,  do  anything  she  was  ordered  to  do, 
under  the  name  of  work-house  gall." 
The  old  lady  took  the  hint,  and  substituted  in  its  place  Ann  Span!- 


ding,  which  being  her  real  name,  she  could  not  complain  of,  though 
she  would  rather  have  chosen  the  more  affectionate  appellation  of 
Anny,  always  used  by  her  employers. 

Soon  after  the  arrangements  we  have  named,  Mr.  Mason  deter 
mined  to  remove  to  the  west ;  the  rich  and  luxuriant  soil  of  that 
region  holding  out  incalculable  inducements  to  the  farmer,  acc«a- 
tomed  to  the  scanty  crops  of  our  eastern  shores.  Anna  accompanied 
them,  and  here  her  patience,  cheerfulness,  and  abilities,  were  beyond 
all  price.  Poor  Mary's  health  declined  under  the  effects  of  the 
climate,  and  Anna  watched  over  her  with  the  solicitude  of  a  sister. 
With  endearments  and  caresses  she  strove  to  wile  her  from  that 
sickness  of  the  heart,  that  too  often  comes  over  tlie  exile  in  his  latf. 
moments,  when  he  pines  for  the  land  of  his  birth,  to  breathe  once 
more  the  air  of  his  childhood,  and  to  lay  his  head  to  rest  as  he  did 
n  years  gone  by.  Oh,  who  can  foretell  that  weariness  of  the  heart, 
which  absence  from  the  familiar  scenes  of  our  early  and  innocent  day* 
>rings  to  the  way-worn  pilgrim  !  Who  calculate  the  strength  of  the 
>ands  that  bind  him  to  home ! 

Mary  was  too  gentle  and  lo\ingto  bear  the  rude  tempests  of  life; 
he  could  never  smile  while  a  shadow  lay  upon  her  sunshine;  her 
oul  was  made  up  of  love  and  tenderness,  and  it  went  forth  in  it» 
ovingness  to  the  bird  and  the  blossom,  the  moss  upou  the  rock,  and 
water  of  the  lapsing  brook.     These  were  beautiful  to  her  in  all 
laces,  but  doubly  so  in  her  native  place.     Her  thoughts  were  there, 
tinging,  in  the  fondness  of  memory,  to  every  nook  and  dell  endeared 
ythe  recollections  of  childhood,  and  when  she  turned  her  cheek  t» 
umber  she  was  there  in  her  visions.    This  could  not  last.    Day  after 
ay  her  strength  declined,  and  at  length  she  died,  leaving  her  only 
child  to  the  care  of  Anna,  imploring  her  to  guard  its  infancy,  and  be 
a  mother  to  it.     Anna  promised  every  thing;  and,  in  the  fullness  of 
her  sorrow,  was  ready  to  do  any  thing  by  which  she  might  testify 
her  affection  for  the  dead.     Day  and  night  she  devoted  herself  to  the 
helpless  infant,  anticipating  its  many  wants  with  the  tenderness  of  ft 
parent. 

Mr.  Mason  could  not  be  insensible  to  the  goodness  of  the  affec 
tionate  and  devotsd  girl.  He  felt  solitary  and  depressed,  and  insen 
sibly  found  himself  lingering  by  the  side  of  Anna  to  caress  his  child* 
unaware  that  the  earnest  kindness  and  unconscious  Emiles  of  the 
humble  maiden  were  bringing  relief  to  his  sorrow.  Anna  regarded  hint 
as  her  guardian,  and,  in  the  simplicity  of  her  heart,  exerted  all  her 
talsnts  to  please  him.  She  never  dreamed  of  the  result.  He  was  La 
affliction,  and  she  strove  to  comfort  him.  She  had  always  been 
mindful  of  his  comfort,  and  now  that  he  was  alone  and  in  sorrow, 
she  became  doubly  so.  One  evening  she  had  sung  little  Jimmy  t» 
sleep  in  her  arms,  and  the  child  lay  upon  her  lap,  its  sleeping  face 
turned  to  the  light ;  Mr.  Mason  seated  himself  beside  her,  and  im 
plored  her  to  become,  in  reality  the  mother  of  the  child,  even  as  she 


12 


THE    NEW    WORLD. 


THE  WESTERN 


had  been  in  kindness.  Poor  Anna  looked  half  bewildered  into  his 
face,  and  burst  into  tears.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  felt  that 
she  was  a  servant. 

"  No,  oh  no,"  she  answered.  "  I  am  your  servant,  bound  to  do 
your  will  as  such.  I  cannot  be  your  wife."  Aad  she  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

Mr.  Mason  was  greatly  shocked.  It  was  true  '  indentures'  had 
been  drawn  up  and  duly  signed,  but  the  paper  had  been  locked  up  in 
a  drawer  in  the  old  black-walnut  desk,  unthought  of  for  years.  Mrs 
Jones  had  undoubtedly  helped  to  keep  the  memory  alive  in  the 
mind  of  the  poor  girl ;  but  neither  herself  nor  Mary  had  ever  re 
garded  her  in  any  other  light  than  as  an  equal  in  the  family ;  one 
bound  to  them  by  no  ties  other  than  those  of  mutual  kindness  and 
affection.  Mr.  Mason  arose,  and  taking  the  papers  from  the  desk, 
threw  them  into  the  flames,  and  besought  her  to  regard  herself  only 
as  the  friend  of  Mary,  and  to  become  his  wife,  and  the  mother  of 
his  child. 

Anna  was  for  a  while  silent,  and  during  this  silence,  such  a  pic 
ture  of  opposition  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Jones,  so  much  of  petty  an 
noyance,  and  daily  intangible  persecution  presented  itself  to  her 
mind,  that  she  turned  from  the  prospect  with  a  feeling  of  horror 
and  she  begged  him  to  drop  the  subject  now  and  for  ever,  adding, 
"  I  could  never,  as  your  wife,  submit  to  the  degrading  treatment  ] 
now  receive." 

Mr.  Masoa  understood  her,  and  he  walked  the  room  in  painfu 
agitation.  Respect  for  Mary  had  enabled  him  to  endure  patiently 
all  the  ill-humor  of  her  mother;  but  was  it  now  his  duty  to  see  the 
peace  of  his  family  destroyed  by  one  whose  claims  were  so  doubt 
ful  1  He  wavered  for  a  moment,  and  then  again  addressed  her. 

"  Anna,  I  might  say  that  Mrs.  Jones  will  seek  a  home  elsewhere 
that  she  has  no  right  to  expect  one  here,  only  as  she  can  bring 
peace  to  the  household.  But,  Anna,  the  law  of  God  forbids  us  to 
cast  out  the  widow,  and  her  that  has  no  helper.  She  must  remain 
I  will  wrestle  with  God  in  prayer,  and  he  will  make  the  path  o 
duty  plain  and  pleasant  before  me." 

Anna  listened  with  surprise  to  the  commencement  of  Mr.  Mason 
but  as  he  went  on,  a  smile  of  approval  grew  to  her  lip,  and  .she 
held  out  her  hand  confidingly,  saying,  "All  will  be  for  the  best 
Duty  can  never  point  but  one  way  at  the  same  time,  as  you  have 
often  said.  Should  my  presence  bring  you  discomfort,  I  will  go  ou 
from  you,  as  did  the  bond-maiden  of  old." 

Mr.  Mason's  brow  contracted  sharply.  "  Do  sot,  dear  Anna,  ever 
speak  of  bonds  again,"  and  he  stooped  down,  and  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  impressed  a  kiss  upon,  her  burning  cheek,  and  then  lef 
the  room,  for  the  step  of  Mrs.  Jones  was  now  upon  the  threshold. 

Anna  was  undoubtedly  sincere  in  her  rejection  of  Mr.  Mason,  bu 
his  subsequent  powers  of  persuasion  were  by  no  means  inconsidera 
ble,  if  we  may  judge  from  the  fact,  that,  six  weeks  after,  she  was 
duly  installed  as  mistress  of  the  mansion;  and  little  Jimmy  began  to 
call  her  mother,  to  the  great  annoyance  of  his  grandmother,  who 
called  her  "  AnnSpaulding,"  with  more  vehemence  than  ever.  She 
even,  in  the  first  transports  of  her  rage,  threatened  to  leave  the 
house  forever  ;  and  in  fact  did,  to  the  great  grief  of  Anna,  go  for  a 
few  days  to  the  house  of  a  neighbor,  declaring  she  could  never  sub 
mit  to  see  another  in  the  place  of  her  "  poor  Mary."  It  is  probable 
that  the  transitory  fit  of  beaevolence  and  neighborly  kindness  on 
the  part  of  the  hostess,  soon  evaporated,  when  thus  heavily  taxed 
for  the  old  lady  returned,  more  out  with  the  world  than  ever,  de 
daring  her  determination  to  remain  and  protect  little  Jimmy  from 
all  ill-usage.  Anna  was  glad  of  her  return,  whatever  might  be  the 
motive,  for  she  could  scarcely  have  absolved  herself  from  blame  had 
she  left  the  house  OH  account  of  her  marriage. 

Years  passed  away,  and  Anna  was  even  beyond  her  expectations 
ft  happy  wife.  True  she  had  her  trials,  for  what  woman  is  withou 
them  1  but  then  her  cheerfulness  and  unfailing  good  temper  were  01 
themselves  a  perpetual  source  of  happiness,  and  with  Anna  there 
was  never  but  one  way,  and  that  was  the  right  way,  and  she  had  a 
perception  to  discover  it  as  by  instinct. 

Little  Jimmy  was  a  lively,  self-willed  boy,  whose  attachment  for 
his  step-mother  increased  just  in  proportion  as  it  gave  discomfort  to 
his  grandmother.  It  must  be  that  the  sense  of  virture  is  deeply 
rooted  in  the  very  constitution  of  the  human  mind,  and  that  it  is  its 
nature  to  discover  its  affinities  just  as  chemical  compounds  repel  o 
assimilate  together.  This  principle  may  be  stronger  in  some  minds 
than  mothers;  for  some  become  the  victims  of  untoward  circum 
stances  and  mal-education,  while  there  are  others  that  nothing  can 
corrupt  or  degrade  ;  whose  path  is  onward  in  spite  of  all  obstacles 


led  by  the  inward  light  alone,  which  God  haa  implanted  in  the  hu 
man  heart.  ^ 

Mrs.  Jones  was  always  saying,  "  No  step-mother  shall  ever  lay 
the  weight  of  her  finger  upon  the  child  of  my  poor  Mary,"  which 
Mrs.  Mason  had  no  desire  to  do;  yet  her  unvarying  firmness  and 
kindness  of  manner  insured  his  obedience,  and  Mr.  Mason  was  care 
ful  to  uphold  her  authority.  Jimmy,  therefore,  became,  as  it  were 
monopolized  by  his  grandmother,  whom  he  teased  and  caressed, 
amused  and  annoyed,  as  suited  him  best.  Sometimes,  having  pro 
voked  her  ire  by  his  childish  love  of  fun,  he  would  flee  to  Anna  for 
protection,  who  would  envelope  him  in  her  robe,  and  whirling 
round  and  round  good-naturedly,  screen  him  from  the  effects  of  her 
wrath,  till  even  she  would  laugh  at  the  thrilling  merriment  of  the 
child ;  for  it  is  difficult  for  even  the  most  irascible  long  to  retain  their 
anger  against  a  lively  child,  however  wayward  he  may  be. 

Notwithstanding  these  somewhat  discordant  materials,  few  fami 
lies  were  more  cheerful  and  happy  than  the  one  we  have  described. 
The  out-breaking  of  passion  on  the  part  of  the  old  lady  were  things 
counted  on  and  expected,  and  therefore  of  less  effect,  while  the 
equanimity  of  the  remainder  was  an  unfailing  source  of  contentment. 
Mr.  Mason  had  been  educated  in  the  rigid  school  of  Presbyterian 
sanctity  ;  and  though  a  shade  of  severity  might  mingle  itself  with 
his  religious  belief  and  Sabbath-day  observances,  it  could  not  for  a 
moment  interfere  with  the  habitual  cheerfulness  of  his  deportment. 
Now  that  he  was  debarred  from  the  public  worship  of  his  Creator 
iu  a  temple  consecrated  for  that  purpose,  he  found  the  overhanging 
woods  and  the  blue  canopy  of  heaven  a  more  worthy  dome  in 
which  to  offer  up  the  sacrifice  of  a  humble  and  believing  heart. 
Away  from  the  actual  temptations  of  life,  too,  he  was  apt  to  observe 
closely  the  workings  of  his  own  mind,  and  he  learned  to  detect 
errors,  t?  combat  evils,  and  to  settle  cases  of  conscience  with  a  skill 
that  the  most  subtile  casuist  might  have  envied.  Every  Sabbath  he 
read  aloud  passages  from  the  few  books  that  ornamented  the  walnut 
desk,  consisting  of  two  or  three  bibles ;  one  of  great  size,  embel 
lished  with  mysterious-looking  cuts  of  wood,  and  being  protected 
with  a  stout  covering  of  sheepskin  in  addition  to  its  original  bind 
ing.  There  was  besides  'Doddridge's  Rise  and  Progress,'  'Masan 
on  Self  Knowledge,'  '  Scongal's  Life  of  God  in  the  Soul  of  Man,' 
which  was  an  especial  favorite,  'Pilgrim's  Progress,'  'Fox's  Book 
of  Martys,'  with  hideous  illustrations,  and  an  old  Commentary  and 
Concordance  for  the  study  of  the  Bible.  There  were  also  a  few 
books  of  a  miscellaneous  nature,  which  Mr.  Mason  was  wont  to  de 
nominate  '  secular,'  such  as  '  Weems'  Life  of  Washington,'  '  Life 
of  Marion,'  '  Goldsmith's  England,'  and  the  «  Campaign  of  the 
Grand  Army,'  &c.  &c. 

Night  and  morning  he  was  accustomed  to  read  a  portion  of  Holy 
Writ  from  the  great  Bible,  when  little  Jimmy  was  taught  to  sit  per 
fectly  still,  and  even  the  grandmother  seemed  to  feel  the  softening 
influence  of  family  worship.  She  bowed  her  head  upon  her  hands, 
while  her  son-m-law,  erect,  with  his  two  hands  restieg  upon  the 
pummels  of  his  chair,  uttered  the  strong  and  fervent  petitions  for  a 
pious  heart,  often  couched  in  the  elevated  and  mystical  language  of 
scripture. 

CHAPTER  IX. 
The  vciy  echoes  round  this  shore, 

Have  caught  a  strange  and  gibbering  tone  ; 
For  they  have  told  the  war-whoop  o'er, 

'Till  the  wild  chorus  is  their  own. — S.  G.  GOODRICH. 
IN  sketching  the  family  of  Mr.  Mason,  we  have,  in  part,  anticipa 
ted  events,  and  must  go  back  to  the  period  of  the  second  marriage, 
when  the  relations  of  the  natives  with  the  whites  had  begun  to  as 
sume,  even  then,  appearances  of  hostility.  Acts  of  violence  were  not 
rare,  the  uncertain  tenure  of  land,  and  the  scattered  condition  of  the 
population,  enabling  them  to  be  perpetrated  almost  with  impunity. 
Necessarily  subjected  to  the  disadvantages  of  a  territorial  govern 
ment,  removed  at  a  distance  from  the  sources  of  the  law,  the  infre- 
quency  and  perils  of  travel  rendering  communication  with  other  parts 
of  the  country  next  to  nothing;  the  inhabitants  were  compelled  as  it 
were  to  take  the  administration  of  justice  into  their  own  hands,  and 
there  is  reason  to  fear  it  was  often  of  an  unwarranted  and  summary 
character.  When  it  is  remembered,  likewise,  that  an  almost  univer 
sal  prejudice  existed  against  the  '  poor  Indian,'  that  he  was  regarded 
as  a  prowling  beast  of  the  woods,  divested  of  the  attributes  of  hu 
manity,  and  having  no  claims  upon  its  sympathies,  there  can  be  no 
I  doubt  that  often,  very  often,  the  tender  mercies  of  the  whites  wers 
cruel. 

The  population  of  this  part  of  the  country  consisted  of  emigrants 
from  all  parts  of  the  Union,  intermingled  with  foreigners,  whom  the 


CAPTIVE. 


THE    NEW     WORLD. 


13 


tumults  of  European  politics  had  compelled  to  seek  security  and  re 
pose  amid  the  solitudes  of  the  western  world.  Many  of  these  were 
French,  and  they  and  their  descendants,  from  the  ease  with  which 
they  accommodated  themselves  to  the  circumstances  of  their  lot,  be 
coming  almost  one  with  the  savages,  adopting  their  costume  and 
sharing  their  perils,  were  less  obnoxious  than  those  of  any  other  na 
tion.  Many  of  the  French  clergy,  too,  men  of  ardent  piety  and  great 
courage  in  the  cause  of  their  divine  Master,  had  labored  m  their 
midst,  aad  left  the  impression  of  their  kindly  humanity  and  untiring 
Christian  devotion. 

The  family  of  Durand  was   of  this  description.     Living  upon  the 
out-skirts  of  the  white  population,  having  but  little  intercourse  with 
them,  shunning  obsirvation,  and  yet  averse  to  companionship  with  j 
the  natives.     He  was,  in  fact,  a  man  of  stern  and  unyielding  integ 
rity,  ofsevere,  almost  fanatical,  views  upon  religious  subjects,  making 
it  rather  a  life  of  penance  and  physical   abasement,  than  of  internal 
spiritual   worship.     Early  disappointments,  it  was  said,  had  driven 
him  from   society,  and  shadowed,  if  they  had  not   unsettled,  the  ba 
lance  of  his  mind.    He  gave  evidence  of  considerable  literary  attain 
ments,  and  his  small  dwelling  contained   articles  of  luxury  and  ele 
gance  little  to  bz  expected  in  such  a  place.     A  single  black  servant 
was  man  of  all  work  in  the  household,  and  seemed  bound  to  the  fam 
ily  by  no  ordinary  ties  of  attachment.     He  was  never  weary,  never  ; 
fatigued,  when  aught  could  be  done  to  promote  their  comfort. 

Mrs.  Durand  was  a  slender,  delicate  woman,  whose  affection  for 
her  husband  was  so  blended  with  timidity,  as  to  make  it  doubtful 
whether  the  feeling  did  in  reality  exist.  It  was  hinted  that  this  had 
not  always  been  the  case,  but  that  strange  passages  had  transpired  to 
make  her  what  she  was.  Certain  it  is  that  a  painful  apathy  chilled 
her  faculties,  except  where  her  feelings  were  elicited  in  behalf  of  her 
children,  then  she  was  all  tenderness  and  devotion — her  soft  eyes  ra 
diant  with  love,  and  her  low  voice  meltingly  sweet.  There  was  won 
drous  fascination  in  the  half-indobnt,  half -impassioned  grace  of  her 
manner,  which  the  spectator  could  never  forget.  The  few  that  had 
seen  her  felt  that  she  was  no  less  beautiful  than  unhappy,  and  had 
not  failed  to  observe  the  strange  mixture  of  gentleness  and  fear  with 
which  she  would  raise  her  eyes  to  those  of  her  husband,  and  then  al 
low  them  to  fall  again  under  the  deeply  fringed  lid.  Her  history  was 
a  mystery,  and  all  felt  it  must  be  a  painful  one.  She  was  the  mother 
of  three  children,  and  her  attachme.it  for  them  could  in  no  wise  sur 
pass  that  by  which  they  were  regarded  by  their  father,  especially  the 
second  daughter;  who  was  said  to  inherit  more  of  his  looks  than  the 
rest,  and  much  of  his  pride  and  loftiness  of  character. 

Thus  were  they  circumstanced,  when  a  party  of  savages,  in  the 
broad  light  of  day,  and  without  provocation,  fell  upon  the  house,  and 
mercilessly  butchered  its  inhabitants.  Alice,  the  oldest  daughter,  es 
caped,  she  could  hardly  tell  how.  She  recollected  witnessing,  in 
part,  the  horrible  work  of  destruction,  and  then  she  became  insensi 
ble.  Upon  recovery,  she  found  the  house  inflames,  the  dead  bodies 
of  her  friends  partially  consumed,  and  the  shadows  of  evening  begin 
ning  to  fall.  Weak  and  bewildered,  beref'  of  happiness  and  almost 
of  reason,  she  turned  mechanically  to  the  direction  of  Mr.  Mason's, 
that  being  the  nearest  family  with  which  they  had  held  any  commu 
nication,  although  that  was  many  miles  distant.  The  particulars  of 
that  long  and  dreary  journey  through  the  untrodden  forests,  the  perils 
from  savage  beasts  and  savage  men,  can  never  be  known.  Alice 
only]retained  a  vague  impression  of  darkness  and  hunger,  weariness 
and  sleep;  of  long,  longjonrneyings,  borne  down  with  a  fatigue  that 
seemed  scarcely  to  be  endured  ;  of  fierce,  glaring  lights,  like  balls  of 
lire,  and  hideous  tramplings,  and  midnight  howliags.  How  she  was 
preserved,  and  how  led  through  that  desolate  wilderness,  can  be 
known  only  to  Him  who  heareth  the  young  ravens  when  they  cry, 
and  who  tempereth  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb.  We  can  only  pic 
ture  to  ourselves  the  feeble  steps  of  the  lone  child,  her  slumbers  be 
neath  the  midnight  canc-py  upon  the  leaves  heaped  by  the  winds, 
and  believe  that  the  wing  of  Him  who  never  slumbereth  was  spread 
over  her,  and  'behold  Angels  ministered'  to  her. 

Anna  was  just  barring  the  door  for  tne  night,  when  a  faint  knock 
und  a  low  wail  fell  upon  her  ear.     Breathless  with  terror,  she  fl«d  I 
her  husband,  believing  it  to  be  the  panther,  which  is  said  to  irmtz 
the  voice  of  human  suffering  in  order  to  delude  his  prey.     Mr.  Mason 
then   laid  aside  his  book  and  opened  the  door,  when  the  form  of  i 
child,  with  its  hands  spread  out,  fell  prostrate  before  him.     He  raise 
her  in  his  at  ms  and  carried  her  to  the  light,  and  for  a  while  all  believed 
that  life  was  extinct.     Slowly  she  returned  to  consciousness,  but  s 
eafecbled,  that  for  many  days  all  nourishment  was  given  her  with 
spoon,  as  a  nurse  would  feed  a  sick  babe.     Then  fever  and  delirium 
succeeded,  and  she  lay  long,  verging  upon  the  very  threshold  of  th* 


,  grave.  The  story  of  the  disaster  became  spread  abroad,  and  excited 
great  sympathy;  for  the  beauty  of  the  lady,  and  the  mystery  that 
!  enveloped  her,  left  much  for  the  imagination,  and  through  that  me- 
|dium  awakened  universal  commiseration.  It  was  a  fearful  tragedy; 
years  of  sorrow,  of  concealed,  heart-felt  wo,  with  its  close  of  blood 
and  death. 

Anna  nursed  the  poor  orphan  with  untiring  solicitude,  soothing 
her  delirium,  and  calling  her  back  to  life  and  hope  with  all  thatflove 
could  suggest.  She  felt  a  double  sympathy  for  her,  as  well  for  her 
great  suff-rings  as  her  state  of  orphanage,  thereby  recalling  the  pain 
ful  passages  of  hfr  own  life.  Youth  and  its  tenacity  of  life  at  leggth 
prevailed,  and  the  lone  child,  with  her  pale,  sad  face,  become  every- 
:  where  the  companion  of  Anna.  She  clung  to  her  as  if  fearful  that 
i  this  last  stay  might  be  removed,  and  she  be  left  utterly  desolate.  She 
seemed  indeed  too  fragile,  too  sensitive  and  loving  for  a  creature  of 
earth,  and  her  mild  eyes  and  quiet  smile  had  in  them  something  al- 
I  most  too  spiritual.  Gradually  her  health  became  established  and  her 
cheerfulness  returned,  though  the  unbidden  tears  often  sprang  to  her 
eyes,  and  her  friends  knew  it  was  in  memory  of  those  who  so  fear- 
:  fully  perished.  Mrs.  Mason  found  in  her  a  friend  and  companion, 
'whose  amiable  and  elevated  thoughts  helped  to  relieve  the  homeli 
ness  of  household  duties,  to  invest  them  with  the  dignity  of  moral 
sentiment,  and  make  things,  vulgar  in  themselves,  assume  a  degree 
of  elevation  by  the  motives  that  dictate  their  performance.  Even 
the  ill-humor  of  Mrs.  Jones  became  mitigated  under  the  influence  of 
her  gentleness;  for  they  ceased  to  regard  it  as  an  error  to  be  cured, 
but  the  natural  consequence  of  age,  and  ita  maoy  infirmities,  its  soli 
tude  and  hopelessness,  demanding  renewed  tenderness  and  forbear 
ance  on  the  part  of  others. 

CHAPTER  X. 

There  stood  the  agei  chieftain,  rejoicing  in  his  glory  ! 
How  deep  the  shaJe  of  sadness  that  rests  upon  his  story  '. 
Forthe  white  rain  came  with  power— like  brethre*  they  met  ; 
Bat  the  Indian  fires  went  out,  and  the  Indian  sun  has  set. 

Mm.  L.L.  FOLLEW. 

IT  had  been  arranged  by  General  Harrison,  that  the  council  should 
be  held  in  a  small  grove  apart  from  the  settlement,  partly  because 
the  city  afforded  no  convenient  place  of  shelter,  public  buildings  be 
ing  at  that  time  unknown,  and  partly  to  relieve  the  axxiety  of  the 
inhabitants,  who  beheld  with  disma  y  the  numerous  assemblage  of 
dusky  warriors  in  their  immediate  neighborhood. 

It  was  a  still,  sultry  day,  in  the  month  of  August,  when  the  mem 
bers  of  the  council  made  their  appearance  upon  the  ground ;  Gene 
ral  Harrison,  in  the  simple  garb  of  the  West,  accompanied  by  his 
aids  and  a  guard  of  a  dozen  men.  It  was  an  imposing  spectacle, 
when  this  handful  of  men  seated  themselves  in  the  midst  of  two 
hundred  warriors,  armed  and  painted,  conscious  of  their  superior 
numbers,  stung  by  wrongs  and  disappointments,  and  resolved  upon 
redress.  When  all  were  assembled,  Winnemac  and  his  warriors 
placed  themselves  by  the  side  of  General  Harrison.  The  Shawanese 
neither  by  look  nor  motion  betrayed  surprise,  and  the  teacheroua 
Potiwatamy  scrutinized  them  in  vain. 

When  all  was  arranged,  General  Harrison  opened  the  council  in  a 
concise  speech,  in  which  he  urged  Tecumseh  to  explain  his  claim* 
upon  the  ceded  territory,  and  demanded  the  cause  of  his  hostility  tc 
ttie  friendly  chief,  Winnemac;  closing  with  an  allusion  te  the  war 
rior's  present,  calculated  to  allay  any  feeling  of  resentment  or  w 
picion  which  they  might  be  supposed  to  entertain. 

Tecumseh  listened  apparently  with  deep  interest,  and  when  he  n 
ceased,  arose  to  reply.     His  voice  was  calm  and  exceedingly  »i 
in  its  varied  modulations,  and  he  gathered  up  the  thread  of  dis< 
with  a  tact  and  eloquence  worthy  of  the  most  accomplished  ore. 
His  action  was  at  first  subdued,  and  full  of  the  lofty  composure  of  the 
«reat  subject  winch  engrossed  him  ;  but  as  his  theme  enlarged    the 
voice  and  even  the  person  of  the  speaker  seemed   to  dilate  with  £ 
and  he  went  on  gathering  volume  and  power,  like  the  torren  tin  itt 
course  drawing  to  itself  the  waters  of  many  streams,  till  it  roll 
ward  to  the  ocean  a  mighty  river! 

"Brothers  :  The  bird  will  sing  all  day  upon  the  branches,  content 
with  its  own  melody— the  bee  will  go  from  blossom  to  blossom, seek 
ing  the  store  of  sweet  dropa-aud  eachu  content  with  ,u 
deer  sports  itself  in  the  moonshine,  and  the  b.aver  looks  **•»» 
mud-house-both  are  content.  They  disturb  the  r.ghts  of  aone 
wish  to  be  undisturbed.     But  go  to  the  nest  of  the  bird  to  tear  it 
youn.  from  their  home,  and  the  helpless  becomes  strong, 
home  of  the  bee,  and  you   feel.*  .ting.     Tear  the  fawn  from  t 
doe,  and  it  turns  at  buy.     The  beaver  will  retreat  through  ma  y 
windings,  and  when  yetreat  i.  no  more,  U  stays  to  peri*  with  it 


14 


THE  NEW  WORLD:. 


THE  WESTERN 


young.     Thus  is  it  with  the  red  man.     I  will  not  recount  his  wrongs,  |  wh;ch,  General  Harrison  perceiving,  instantly  sent  him  one,  saying, 


I  will  not  tell  of  the  white  man's  weakness,  and  his  wants,  when  he 
held  up  his  hands  to  the  poor  Indian  and  asked  for  bread.     I  will ! 
not  tell  how  the  red  man  spread  his  skins  to  succor  him,  aad  his  | 
venison  to  give  him  strength.  I  will  not  tell  of  this.   But  look  abroad 
— did  not  the   Indian  succor  him  1    Lo,  the  whole  land  is  wrested 
from  the  red  man,  and  he  is  driven  from   the  very  soil  where  once 
the  white  man  begged  for  a  piece  of  earth  in  which  to  lay  the  bones 
cf  his  dead.     The  white  man  has  chased  his  red  brother  across  ths 
Alleghanies,   and  now  he  must  come  at  bay.     The  weak  is  to  grow 
strong  in  self-defence.     He  is  to  gather  up  the  ashes  of  his  dead,  and 
here,  on  his  own  hunting-grounds — on  the  hearth-stones  of  his  cabin,  | 
with  his  women  and  children  about  him,  he  is  to  stand  on  his  defence  j 
The  Indian  will  do  it.     Here  he  must  live;  or  if  he  must  die,  it  ehali  j 
he  here,  on  this  soil — this  grant  of  the  Great  Spirit — here,  with  his  j 
women  and  his  children  about  him.     If  he  perish,  the  smoke  of  his! 
cabins  shall  go  up  and  light  the  great  prairies;  and  if  the  white  man  i 
carries  his  plough  here,  it  must  be  over  the  graves  of  the  last  of  our' 
people! 

"  Brothers :  We  are  weary  of  blood.  The  corn  that  we  eat  is  red  i 
with  blood  ;  there  is  blood  upon  the  leaves  of  the  tree  ;  the  flower ; 
is  streaked  with  blood.  We  are  weary  of  slaughter.  We  would 
bury  the  tomahawk  deep  in  the  earth;  the  rain  and  the  dew  should 
fill  it  with  rust,  till  it  should  be  no  more  found.  But  we  dare  not  bury 
it.  We  wear  it  at  our  belt,  that  the  white  man  may  remember  that 
the  Indian  has  a  weapon,  and  he  will  use  it;  but  only  to  defend  his 
own  land — his  own  cabin  fire.  Let  the  white  man  stay  where  he  is, 
and  the  tomahawk  is  quiet  in  its  place  :  let  him  step  his  foot  but  its 
length  further,  and  it  is  red  with  his  blood.  Let  him  remember  this 
" Brothers:  The  Great  Spirit  has  taken  a  cord,  and  has  bound  all 
the  red  men  together.  They  have  all  spread  out  the  hand,  and  gnsped 
each  the  hand  of  his  brother.  There  is  one  great  chain  of  red  men, 
with  lin'ced  hands,  from  the  big  lakes  to  the  warm  waters  of  the 
south.  Tae  whole  land  west  of  the  great  mountains  belongs  to  this 
one  people.  No  tribe  shall  again  say,  '  This  land  is  mine — I  will  seli 
it  for  strong  drink,  and  muskets,  and  blankets;'  for  it  is  the  property 
of  the  whole.  The  Indian  shall  not  be  driven  from  his  fields  and 
hunting-grounds,  because  strong  drink  has  taken  away  his  heart 
He  is  beund  by  the  great  bonds  of  our  people  to  defend  and  preserve 
It.  We  are  no  more  many  tribes — we  are  one  people. 

"Brothers:  The  whites  were  once  many  tribes :  they  were  feeble 
Ships  came  over  the  big  waters,  and  armed  men  to  rob  them.  They 
united  for  defence  :  they  became  a  strong  people,  and  their  enemies 
hurried  away.  So  it  is  with  the  red  man :  he  was  once  many — now 
he  is  one." 

Turning  to  Gen.  Harrison,  and  addressing  his  discourse  particularly 
to  him,  he  went  on : 

"Brother:  You  have  been  told  that  we  desire  war.  It  is  fake 
The  Indian  is  only  resolved  to  defend  his  own.  There  is  now  one 
great  union  of  the  tribes.  We  must  be  treated  as  one  people  :  our 
land  belongs  to  the  whole :  our  Great  Father  at  Washington  must 
treat  us  as  one  people :  we  shall  make  peace  or  war  as  one  people 
I  shall  visit  our  Father  at  Washington,  and  tell  him  of  the  union  ef 
the  tribes,  and  he  will  put  a  stop  to  this  bartering  of  our  rights.  He 
will  meet  us  as  the  messengers  of  a  great  people.  He  will  put  up  a 
barrier  to  hold  back  his  people.  He  must  do  it,  for  the  Indian  has 
now  taken  his  stand — he  is  fixed  to  the  soil. 

"  Brother :  Should  he  fail  to  do  this— should  he  put  his  hand  be 
hind  him,  when  his  red  brother  crosses  the  Alleghanies,  and  offers  the 
pipe  of  peace,  it  must  come  to  blood.  He  may  sit  over  the  mountains, 
and  drink  his  wine  and  smoke  his  pipe,  "and  you  and  I  must  fight  it 
out. 

"  Brother  :  You  ask  why  we  call  upon  the  members  of  the  Council 
of  Fort  Wayne  to  answer  for  their  conduct. 

"Brother:  They  had  taken  the  oath  of  confederation,  whose  pe 
nalty  was  death.  They  had  clasped  the  hand  of  fellowship  that  made 
us  one,  and  death  only  can  restore  the  links.  They  have  done  rob- 


bery,  in  selling  what  was  not  their  own,  but  had  become  the  property  i 
of  the  whole.  They  have  bartered,  for  things  that  decay  in  using.  1 
the  everlasting  rights  of  our  people— the  old  hills,  and  broad  hunting- ! 
grounds,  willed  us  by  the  Great  Spirit.  Death  only  can  wipe  out  the 
guilt.  The.Crooked  Path  only  sees  the  sunshine  of  to-day:  he  looks 
not  at  the  shadows  of  yesterday,  nor  the  black  clouds  gathering  upon 
the  distant  mountain.  He  sees  only  the  smoke  of  his  own  pipe.  He ,, 
must  die! 

"  Brother,  I  have  done." 

Turning  to  seat  himself,  the  chi«f  found  noplace  prepared  for  him  ; 


The  white  father  desires  you  to  be  seated.' 
The  proud  lip  of  Tecumseh  curled  with  scorn,  and  he  replied  : 
"  The  sun  is  my  father,  the  earth  my  mother :  I  will  repose  upon 
her  bosom:"  and  he  seated  himself  upon  the  earth. 

The  reply  of  General  Harrison  was  mild  and  conciliatory ;  but  he 
had  to  do  with  an  acute  reasoner,  and  one  having  truth  and  justice 
on  his  side.  He  refused  to  recognize  this  new  feature  in  the  nego 
tiations  with  (he  Indians,  and  contended  that  the  chiefs  who  attended 
the  Council  of  Fort  Wayne,  were  the  rightful  owners  of  the  land  there 
ceded,  and  had  received  a  fair  equivalent  therefor.  He  knew  no 
thing  of  the  union  of  the  tribes,  and  declared  that  the  great  Father 
at  Washington  would  never  recognize  their  pretensions.  The  union 
was  a  dream.  Such  a  thing  could  not  exist — could  not  be  recognized. 
A  smile,  half  mournful,  half  incredulous,  rested  upon  the  face  of 
Tecumseh,  at  the  close  of  this  address.  He  sat,  with  his  arms  folded 
upon  his  bosom,  involved  in  painful  reverie,  when  he  was  roused  by 
the  voice  of  Winnemac,  who  entered  upon  his  defence.  Tecumseh 
arose,  and  vehemently  stretched  forth  his  hand : 

"Let  not  the  traitor  dare  to  speak  here,  and  to  this  a?semblage,  of 
his  crime.  He  shall  appear  before  the  council  of  his  own  people, 
and  plead  there.  He  has  broken  his  oath,  and  must  answer  for  it  to 
those  who  helped  to  administer  it." 

Observing  a  determination  in  the  chief  to  go  on,  Tecumseh's  toma 
hawk  leaped  from  his  belt,  and  he  sprang  forward,  as  if  about  to  sink 
it  into  the  brain  of  the  traitor  chief.  His  followers  obeyed  the  same 
mpulse,  and  stopped  short,  as  their  leader,  always  preser\ing  the 
command  of  his  passions,  even  while  he  seemed  to  give  them  rein, 
paused  midway  in  his  advance. 

General  Harrison  unsheathed  his  sword,  and  calmly  pronouaced 
their  deliberations  at  an  end;  uttering,  at  the  same  time,  some  words 
«f  reproach,  that,  for  a  brief  moment,  sent  the  fierce  blood  to  the 
cheek  and  eye  of  Tecumseh;  but  immediately  his  proud  form  was 
erect  and  composed,  and,  waving  his  hand  to  hrs  followers,  he  put 
himself  at  their  head,  and  slowly  retired  from  the  council-ground. 

The  report  of  the  tumultuous  close  of  the  council,  created  not  a 
little  of  terror  in  the  minds  of  the  inhabitants.  Weapons  of  every 
description  were  brought  from  musty  retreats,  and  made  ready  for 
service.  Sundry  kettles  of  water,  with  dippers  of  goodly  length, 
might  be  seen  boiling,  ready  for  use,  and  pokers  and  tongs  were 
statiened  by  the  doors,  while  broomsticks  suddenly  grew  into  great 
demand.  When  the  troop,  in  a  long  file,  paraded  the  streets  of  the 
infant  city,  it  was  hushed  and  motionless,  as  if  under  the  influence  of 
some  powerful  spell.  More  than  one  musket  might  be  seen  pro 
truded  through  one  of  the  two  holes  cut  in  the  top  of  the  doors, 
evidently  for  the  purpose  of  letting  in  light,  and  letting  out  light  also, 
in  the  shape  of  a  rifle  shot :  but  now  the  vibratory  motion  of  said 
muskets  gave  strong  indie:. lion  of  the  s.tate  of  nerves  incident  to  the 
holder.  Windows  and  shutters  were  closed,  and  not  a  child  visible, 
except  where  the  wild  eyes  of  some  daring  little  urchin  were  seen 
peering  through  koles  in  the  shutter,  made  in  the  form  of  a  heart, 
whither  he  had  climbed,  by  the  aid  of  tables  and  chairs,  to  get  a 
sight  of  the  show,  or  the  battL?,  as  the  case  might  be.  But  the  troop 
silently  wended  their  way  to  the  camp,  and  the  inhabitants  cau 
tiously  crawled  out  from  their  concealment,  each  casting  an  in  quiring 
glance  at  the  scalp  of  his  neighbor,  to  see  if  that  appendage  still 
retained  its  allegiance.  When  the  night  closed  in,  precautions 
were  not  neglected,  for  many  were  assured  that  this  appearance  of 
quietude  was  only  a  feint,  to  throw  them  from  their  guard  ;  and  the 
stillness  of  the  night  was  reserved  for  the  attempt  at  destruction. 
Some  of  the  more  adventurous,  among  whom  was  Henry  Mansfield, 
visited  the  camp  at  night,  and  were  witness  to  the  order  and  disci 
pline  that  prevailed.  It  was  a  pleasant  sight  to  beho.Vi  the  brisk 
fires  sparkling  in  the  green  woods,  the  torches  gleaming  in  long 
streams  of  light,  and  the  dasky  warriors  collected  in  groups,  or 
wrapped  in  skins,  composed  to  undisturbed  repose,  while  the  sentries 
remained  motionless  as  the  huge  bolea  against  which  they  reclined. 
The  night  wore  on  in  its  quietude  and  beauty,  with  nothing  to  disturb 
its  repose. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

The  monarch  rose-  in  musing  mood, 
And  silent  for  a  moment  stood, 
Wrspp'd  in  himself,  is  though  he  sought 
To  grasp  som^  hkldjn.  vaniihei  thought, 
Which,  rayless,  vague,  and  undefined, 
Still  seemstt  flit  bek/e  the min-*.— SEBA  SMITH. 

THE  more  Mansfield  pondered  upon  the  resemblance  of  the  two 
girls,  the  more  probable  did  it  appear  to"hirr,  that  one  cf  the  Dura-nd 


CAPTIVE. 


THE    NEW    WORLD 


15 


family  might  have  escaped,  and  have  been  carried  into  captivity 
while  the  burning  of  the  house  rendered  it  difficult  to  ascertain  the 
fact  frcm  the  partial  destruction  of  the  bodies  by  the  flames,  and  wiL 
animals  attracted  to  the  spot. 

Full  of  these  convictions,  desirous  to  ascertain  the  truth,  and  ye 
fearful  of  awakening  hop»s  that  might  never  be  realized,  he  hesitatec 
what  course  to  adopt.  At  length,  bethinking  himself  of  the  litil 
basket  presented  him  by  Margaret,  he  determined  to  take  it  with 
him,  and  call  upon  the  family  ;  making  it  in  one  way,  as  circum 
stances  might  direct,  the  vehicle  of  communication. 

The  door  of  the  dwelling  was  open,  and,  as  he  entered  the  little 
gate,  he  observed  the  family  motionless  about  the  room,  and  caugh 
the  sounds  of  Mr.  Mason's  voice,  reading  the  Scriptures.  He  spoke 
in  deep  and  solemn  tones,  as  if  every  word  of  the  divine  Psalmist 
all  the  fervency  of  petition  and  humility  of  self-abasement,  were 
echoed  from  his  own  heart.  "  Enter  not  into  judgment  with  me,  0 
Lord,  and  deal  not  with  me  according  to  my  transgressions." 

It  was  now  too  late  to  retreat,  for  Mrs.  Mason  quietly  beckonec 
him  to  approach,  and  Alice  in  silence  pointed  to  a  chair  beside  her 
blushing  slightly,  and  covering  her  eyea  with  her  hand,  while  tke 
reading  went  on.  Mr.  Mason  appeared  unconscious  of  his  presence 
The  babe  aroused,  and  gave  two  or  three  lively  springs  in  its  mother's 
lap;  but  Jimmy  sat  with  his  head  back,  his  mouth  open,  and  starin 
with  great  perseverance  at  the  new  comer.  When  the  chapter  was 
finished,  Mr.  Mason  laid  the  Bible  reverently  aside,  and  uttering  the 
words,  "Let  us  pray,"  the  whole  family  ross  up,  and  continued 
standing  over  the  L-;ck  of  their  chairs,  while  '  the  saint,  the  husband, 
and  the  father'  prayed.  It  was  a  simple,  beautiful  acknowledgment 
of  the  Divine  presence  in  that  little  dwelling,  and  even  Mansfield 
wondered  at  the  fervency  of  his  own  feelings,  as  his  thoughts  wen 
up  with  that  devout  wrestler  in  prayer  in  the  quietude  of  the  even 
ing  twilight.  He  at  first  wondered  at  the  evidently  sincere  con 
fession  of  errors  and  "short  comings  in  duty,"  from  the  lips  of  one 
whose  life  was  apparently  so  blameless;  but  reflection  soon  taught 
him  that  errors  are  not  to  be  estimated  merely  by  the  external  mani 
festation  of  them,  but  by  their  presence  in  the  heart.  One's  sense  o: 
wrong-feeling.'producing  a  sense  of  wrong-doing,  in  proportion  as  the 
standard  of  moral  excellence  is  exalted  or  otherwise. 

The  half-reckless  and  unreflective  life  he  had  hitherto  lee!, 
seemed  suddenly  checked,  and  the  holiness  of  the  atmosphere  he 
now  breathed,  come  down  like  a  refreshing,  and  a  new  beauty  upon 
him.  He  cast  his  eyes  around  upon  the  little  family,  and  beheld  the 
softened  look  of  the  old  dame,  the  hushed  spirits  of  the  gay  boy 
and  Mrs.  Mason,  who  had  seated  herself  in  the  discharge  of  her  ma 
ternal  duty,  was  looking  down  upon  her  sleeping  child,  a  soft  smile 
about  her  mouth,  her  eyes  full  of  maternal  love,  and  that  whole  air 
of  quietness  and  content  which  can  only  spring  from  a  heart  filled  to 
the  brim  with  its  unpretending  happiness.  Alice,  too,  was  at  his 
side ;  her  form  slightly  inclined,  the  round  lips  compressed,  and  a 
holy  cemposure  resting  upon  the  sweet  face,  as  far  as  it  \vas  left 
visible  by  the  small  hand  pressed  upon  the  eyes. 

When  Mr.  Mason  at  length  pronounced  the  word  "  Amen,"  the 
youth  started,  as  if  the  straying  of  his  thoughts  from  the  sacred  duty 
for  which  he  had  risen,  were  known  to  all  present. 

Mr.  Mason  now  came  forward  and  shook  him  heartily  by  the 
hand,  and  the  rest  of  the  family  j  oined  in  the  expressions  of  a  hospi 
table  welcome.  It  was  evide.-.t  that  the  labor  of  the  family  closed 
wit'i  the  setting  of  the  sun,  for  all  the  implements  of  industry  were 
carefully  bestowed  in  their  appropriate  places.  The  wheel  of  the 
old  lady  was  placed  in  a  corner,  behind  the  cradle  of  the  babe,  and 
Mrs.  Mason's  scissors  and  skein  of  thread  were  hung  on  one  nail  that 
supported  the  little  looking-glass,  while  on  the  other  hung  a  pin-ball 
and  her  thimffle.  The  table  beneath  was  scoured  to  the  l?st  degree 
of  whiteness,  and  on  the  carefully  folded  linen  cloth,  might  be  seen 
the  epen  spectacles  of  the  grandmother.  A  small  birch-bark  box, 
wrought  with  the  quills  of  the  porcupine,  curiously  colored,  con 
tained  a  silver  thimble,  some  cotton,  the  MS3.  of  some  old  verses 
neatly  copied,  and  knitting  needles,  with  the  stitches  of  a  little  sleek- 
ing  for  the  bibe.  Jimmy^socn  laid  hold  of  the  basket  and  carried  it 
to  Alice  for  her  to  admire.  Its  delicate  construction  attracted  all 
eyes,  and  when  Jimmy  returned  it  to  the  owner,  in  obedience  to  the 
commands  of  his  mother,  Henry  desired  him  to  carry  it  to  Miss 
Alice,  and  ask  her  to  keep  it,  adding,  "  It  was  the  gift  of  a  young 
girl  at  the  Indian  town,  remarkable  fur  her  resemblance  to  herself. 
"Alice  don't  look  like  an  Injin,"said  the  child,  stopping  short. 
Alice  colored,  and  looked  up  in  some  contusion. 
•«•  Oh,  no;  it  was  not  an  Indian,  bat  a—"  (he  was  about  to  say 


beautiful,  but  he  checked  himself,  and  added)  "a  white  girl,  who 
seemsd  to  have  been  adopted  by  the  tribe." 

Alice  half  rose  from  her  chair:  "Did  you  say  she  resembled  my- 
selfl"  she  atked  faintly. 

|  Remarkably ;  except' that  she  was  taller  and  darker." 

"  It  is  Margaret !"  murmured  the  poor  girl,  in  a  scarc«Iy  audible 
voice,  and  sinking  into  a  chair  with  a  face  pale  as  marble. 

The  good  Anna  came  to  her  assistance,  and  Mamiif  Id  blamed  hi* 
awkwardness  and  precipitancy  in  giving  utterance  to  his  conviction*. 
When  restored  to  consciousness,  Alice  desired  him  to  describe  the 
girl  he  had  seen;  and  she  listened  with  a  trembling  of  the  lip,  a 
painful,  earnest  expression  about  the  eye,  and  an  anxiety  of  the 
brow,  that  showed  that  self  was  entirely  forgotten  in  the  interest 
excited  by  the  detail.  When  he  dwelt  upon  the  haughty  expression 
about  the  lip,  Alice  shook  her  head,  «'  Oh,  no :  Margaret  was  so 
light,  so  joyous ;  and  yet,  when  teased,  she  would  look  proud  and 
queenly,  and  never  cry  like  children  of  her  own  age.  She  must  be 
greatly  changed." 

Placing  a  finger  upon  her  brow,  she  bent  her  head  as  ia  deep 
thought,  as  if  striving  to  restore  the  severed  links  of  memory.  At 
length  she  commenced  in  a  low  voice,  and  with  the  manner  of  one 
forcibly  dragged  back  to  the  contemplation  of  horrors  which  he 
would  fain  avoid,  and  without  raising  her  eyes  from  the  floor. 

"  les,  I  think  I  see  now  how  she  was  saved.  I  was  always  fear 
ful  and  timid,  but  Margaret  was  brave.  I  shrank  from  the  tempest 
and  the  lightning,  but  Margaret  delighted  in  beholding  all  that  was 
wild  and  terrible.  I  could  never  see  a  savage  without  a  shudder,  as 
if  I  felt  the  edge  of  the  tomahawk  ;  but  Margaret  had  learned  their 
dances,  would  adorn  herself  with  their  ornaments,  and  listen  to  their 
wild  tales.  We  had  been  out  gathering  berries,  when  the  sound  t>{ 
shrieks  and  yells  caused  us  to  turn  homeward.  We  reached  the 

house  just  to  behold  the  babe  dashed  against  a  tree,  and  my  mother 

but  I  can  say  no  more.  Half  in  weakness,  for  my  limbs  refused  to 
bear  me,  and  half  in  cowardly  fear,  for  my  flesh  winced  as  if  the 
plunge  of  the  kaife  were  in  my  own  body,  I  sank  dowa  by  a  pile  of 
wood  near  the  house,  and  remained  concealed.  Bitterly  have  I  de 
plored  that  moment  of  weak  terror.  But  the  noble  and  intrepid 
Margaret  hastened  forward,  and  laid  hold  of  the  savage  hand  about 
to  take  the  scalp  from  the  head  of  my  father.  I  shall  never  forget 
the  laugh  of  the  Indian  as  he  dropped  my  father's  gray  locks,  and 
seized  the  long  curU  of  my  sister  :  I  grew  dizzy,  a  mist  came  before 
my  eyes,  and  a  sensation  as  if  a  cauldron  of  burning  lead  were  poured 
upon  my  brain.  "at  I  forced  all  back  and  looked  on.  I  saw  a  tall 
powerful  chief  approach,  with  uplifted  hatchet— Margaret  stretched 
out  her  pale  arms,  and  rushed  forward,  with  wild  and  staring  eyes. 
[  saw  no  more.  A  mortal  sickness  came  upon  me,  and  when  I  awoke 
[  was  deathly  cold,  the  house  was  in  flames,  and  the  Indians  goae. 
[  looked  in  the  spot  where  I  had  last  seen  Margaret.  I  could  find  no 
trace  tt  any — all,  all  were  gone.  There  was  nothing  left  but  blood, 
blood  everywhere  ;  and  there  it  was  upon  the  tree,  and  there  was  a 
few  hairs  from  the  head  of  the  dear— dear  babe.  I  grew  wi.'-i  and 
reckless,  and  wished  I  too  had  died  ;  and  yet,  would  you  think  it, 
when  I  thought  of  the  terrible  mode — of  the  cold,  sharp  steel,  I  rushed 
away  into  the  woods  in  search  of  life — for  it  struck  me  that  the  sav- 
icres  might  return.  Now  that  I  recall  all  the  circumstances  of  the 
case,  it  is  more  than  probable  that  Margaret's  fearless  demeanor 
aiigh't  have  won  the  admiration  of  the  Indians,  and  have  induced  them 

to  spare  her." 

Alice  ceased,  and  all  thought  it  at  last  appeared  plausible.  Mr. 
VI  *oa  however,  cautioned  Alice  to  think  calmly  upon  it,  for  after 
ill  it  might  not  be  Margaret ;  and  if  it  were  so,  nothing  could  be 
-ainedby  undue  solicitude,  while  if  it  were  not,  all  the  time  spent  in 
anriety  would  be  just  so  much  waste  of  life  :  for,  L^  added,  "  every 
moment  should  carry  with  it  right  and  good  thoughts,  or  it  is  worse 
than  lost  to  us." 

<T        sure  it  M  Margaret,"  said  Anna,  "I  feel  as  if  it  must  be  so,  atd 
w  when  that  is  the  case,  I  know  just  how  things  will  come 
-  ^e  ,vat  her  arm  about  the  waiste  of  Alice  and  laid  her 
i"her  shoulder.     Alice  felt  too  intensely  and  painfully  for 


Ut'          on" 


on 
b  t  she  sat  helpless,  and  breathing  short,  her  face  pale  as 

^Never  worry,"  said  the  old  lady,  "I  am  sure    'tis  little,  Marge- 

But  iust  think   how  she'll  be  changed  :    She's  half  Injin  now, 

Banner  of  doubt.     She's  as  good  as  lost,  you  see,  for  she'll 

ITbftek  again  to  live  like  other  folks.     She'll  be  kind  of 

°j  i:ir.  tl  wander  in  the  woods,  and  hate  all  manner  of  work, 

rt'ild,  and  HKC  lt>  "  .    ,    <!••  _ 

you  see.    I  remember  there  was  Sam  Shaw  ;  he  was  earned  el 


24 


THE    NEW    WORLD. 


THE  WESTERNS 


the  Injins,  when  he  was  nigh  about  ten  years  old,  and  he  lived  with 
them  till  he  was  nigh  on  to  thirty,  and  then  his  folks  hearn  that  he 
was  alive — so  his  brother  started  off  to  bring  him  home.  At  first 
Sam  wouldn't  come,  but  when  he  was  told  about  his  poor  mother 
who  could  never  forget  him,  and  who  had  grown  gray  in  her  trouble 
for  him,  Sam  couldn't  help  feelin'  it,  and  he  come  home.  But  'twas 
a  dreadful  sight.  He  come  home,  you  see,  with  his  blanket  over  his 
shoulders,  and  leggins  on,  and  a  belt  with  his scalpin'-knife  and  toma 
hawk,  and  head  stuck  chock  fall  of  feathers.  His  poor  mother  threw 
her  arms  abost  his  neck,  for  she  knew  him  for  all  that,  and  kissed 
his  cheek  and  mouth;  and  don't  you  think,  there  stood  Sam,  bolt  up 
right,  and  never  moved  an  arm,  or  said  a  word,  only  a  foolish  kind 
of  look  about  the  face.  It  enymost  killed  his  mother.  He  weuldn't 
never  hear  no  preaching  nor  praying,  and  nobody  could  make  him 
learn  to  read.  He  couldn't  lay  in  a  bed  no  how,  and  used  to  get  up 
before  day-light  and  go  off  a  shooting.  Sometimes  he  would  shoot 
the  neighbor's  pigs  a.nd  poultry,  and  if  they  said  one  word,  the  next 
night  he'd  shoot  more.  He  never  would  go  to  work,  but  there  he 
set  all  day,  smoking,  smoking,  and  saying  nothing  to  nobody.  His 
mother  took  on  terribly  ;  things  couldn't  last  so  long,  and  at  last  she 
died.  The  very  next  day  Sam  was  missin".  He  left  all  his  clothin', 
and  took  his  gun  and  blanket,  and  'twas  supposed  he  went  back  to 
the  Injins;  bat  nobody  knew,  for  he  was  never  seen  after." 

All  listened  to  the  recital  with  a  sort  of  painful  apathy,  and  Alice 
never  raised  her  eyes  from  the  floor.  When  she  ceased,  Mr.  Mason 
replied— i 

"  It  may  be  as  you  say,  grandmother,  for  it  is  no  ways  likely  that 
she  will  appear  as  if  brought  up  with  the  whites  ;  still  I  am  thinking 
that  girls  don't  forget  such  things  so  quick  as  boys.  Somehow  they 
never  lose  these  little  nice  ways,  when  they  once  get  them,  and  Mr. 
Mansfield  says  she  seems  nowise  like  an  Injin." 

"  O  let  us  not  talk  of  it,"  said  Alice,  "  but  she  must  be  brought 
home.  Can  we  devise  no  method  1" 

"I  will  go  myself  to  the  Indian  town,"  said  Mansfield,  "  and  do 
all  I  can  to  restore  her." 

Alice  raised  her  eyes  full  of  gratitude,  to  his  face,  and  then  they 
fell  and  tears  gathered  beneath  the  lids.  The  youth  could  not  but 
look  upon  her  sweet  pale  face,  and  he  thought  again  hew  like  it  was 
to  Margaret's,  and  yet  how  much  it  lacked  that  lofty  look  and  bearing 
which  added  so  much  to  the  interest  ef  the  other. 

CHAPTER  XII. 

For  vain  yon  army's  might, 
While  for  thy  band  the  wide  plain  owned  a  tree, 

Or  the  wild  vine's  tangled  shoots, 

Or  the  gnarled  oak's  mossy  roots 
Their  trysting  place  might  be  !— LUCY  HOOFER. 

UNWILLING  to  lose  any  opportunity  to  conciliate  the  powerful  in 
fluence  of  Tecutnseh,  General  Harrison  resolved  to  pay  him  a  visit 
at  his  encampment,  in  the  hope  that  he  might  be  won  overdo  the 
American  policy. 

Tecumseh  received  him  courteously,  and  motioned  him  to  a  seat 
upon  the  turf  beside  him,  at  the  same  time  that  he  presented  the 
lighted  calumet  in  token  of  friendship.  General  Harrison  was  a 
brave  man  and  familiar  with  Indian  customs,  and  he  seated  himself 
with  a  single  attendant,  unarmed  in  the  midst  of  these  warriors  of  the 
woods,  armed  to  the  teeth.  He  was  well  aware  of  the  effect  likely 
to  be  produced  upen  their  wild  and  generous  natures  by  such  tokens 
of  confidence;  and  he  remained  for  some  time  smoking  the  pipe  in 
imitation  of  their  own  taciturnity.  Occasionally,  the  two  leaders 
cast  looks  of  scrutiny  upon  each  other,  but  each  was  an  adept  in  the 
power  of  guarding  the  expression  of  the  face,  and  nothing  could  be 
gathered.  In  the  mean  time  the  IncMan  fires  were  lighted  in  various 
directions,  and  the  game,  secured  by  the  dexterity  of  the  hunter  and 
trapper,  was  in  process  of  preparation.  Flitches  of  deer,  with  squir 
rels,  rabbits  and  other  small  game  were  suspended  on  wooden  spits, 
or  roasting  on  the  coals,  while  those  of  the  party  whose  repast  wa= 
over  were  amusing  themselves  in  adorning  their  persons,  or  in  the 
many  ganres  so  much  in  vogue  with  a  rude  people.  Gradually  the 
gamesters  removed  from  the  vicinity  of  the  older  chiefs,  who  had  seated 
themselves  macircle  about  Tecunneh  and  the  white  General;  and  the 
low  hum  of  their  voices,  mingled  with  the  singing  ot  the  birds  acd 
the  crackling  of  the  fires. 

The  sheila  of  the  squirrel  rattled  down  upon  the  old  leaf  benea'h 
ree,  and  the  mght-dew  still  gemmed  the  filaments  of  the  spider 

?J£S2  iT  tlr head  of  the  wild  blossern-  The  miet  frc™ 

e  rive    aad  the  level  prairie  was  sailing  lightly  off  to  mingle  with 
that  of  thegreatlake,,  while  in  the  direction  Opposite  theeun.the  «T 


reposed  like  an  immense  dome  of  deepest  azure.  Softly  above  the 
trees  arose  the  slender  spires  of  thin  smoke,  as  if  many  altars  had 
been  reared  in  the  great  wilderness  to  burn  incense  to  Him,  who  is 
invisible. 

General  Harrison  laid  his  pipe  aside,  and  Tecumseh  assumed  an 
attitude  of  attention. 

"  Brother  :  We  heard  your  talk  of  yesterday  with  regret,  for  we 
thought  you  had  been  bought  over  to  the  English;  that  you  are  be 
coming  the  foes  of  our  white  Father,  the  President. 

"  Brother  :  We  are  told  that  the  war-belt  haa  been  sent  around 
among  the  tribesvand  that  you  only  wait  the  movements  of  the  Brit 
ish  to  come  down  with  all  your  people  to  kill  our  women  and  burn 
our  villages.  Tecumseh  is  a  great  chief,  but  he  is  trying  to  blow 
smoke  into  the  eyes  of  his  white  brothers.  He  talks  of  peace  whea 
he  is  planning  for  war.  He  talks  of  a  union  of  the  tribes  for  their 
own  security,  when  he  is  planning  to  fight  egainst  our  Father,  the 
President,  and  to  aid  his  foes." 

Tecumseh  replied  calmly,  though  a  fierce  light  burnt  in  his  eye, 
and  there  was  a  slight  expression  of  scorn  about  the  lip, 

"Brother:  The  path  of  the  white  man  is  crooked  like  that  of  the  snake 
in  the  grass.  The  red  man  has  tried  the  same  path;  but  now  it  is 
straight  forward  like  that  of  the  arrow  from  the  bow.  The  white 
man  cannot  understand  it.  He  covers  his  face  with  his  hand,  and 
then  says  he  cannot  see.  He  puts  his  fingers  in  his  ears,  snd  says  he 
cannot  hear.  Let  him  open  his  eyes  and  ears,  and  his  heart  will  un 
derstand. 

"  Brelher :  Once  the  tribes  were  a  great  people,  their  smokes  went 
up  from  a  thousand  hills ;  they  were  like  the  leaves  upon  the  trees. 
They  are  passing  away.  The  fox  is  crouched  in  his  wigwam.  The 
moss  is  thick  upon  his  council-stones.  The  vine  clingeth  about  the 
spear  of  the  warrior,  and  the  old  canoe  rotteth  beside  the  lake.  We 
are  bowed  and  feeble.  We  look  away  to  the  hills,  and  behold  the 
spirits  of  our  people  gathering  in  the  land  of  shadows.  We  see  them, 
departing  like  the  wings  of  the  bird  when  storms  come  upon  the. 
earth. 

"Brother:  The  Great  Spirit  hath  revealed  his  will  to  his  children. 
He  hath  bound  us  in  one  brotherhood.  He  opened  the  eyes  of  his 
red  children,  to  perceive  that  his  white  brothers  were  crowding  him 
from  the  earth.  The  plan  of  our  white  Father,  the  President,  ia 
buying  our  land,  is  like  a  mighty  water  that  will  swallow  up  the  red 
men.  The  union  of  the  tribes  is  a  dam  to  hold  it  in  check — to  keep 
back  this  mighty  water.  It  is  no  dream.  The  tribes  are  one.  We 
will  sell  no  more  of  our  land. 

"Brother:  You  have  evil  counsellors.  They  tell  you  we  ar- 
leagued  with  your  enemies,  the  British.  It  is  false.  There  is  no 
treaty  except  that  which  binds  the  tribes  into  one.  If  you  and  the 
British  go  to  war  you  must  fight  it  out.  The  Indian  will  fight  for 
neither.  What  have  we  to  gain  by  your  wars'?  Nothing,  but  to  be 
still  more  weakened,  and  then  to  fall  a  prey  to  one  or  the  other  of 
you.  No  :  the  Indian  will  defend  his  own  hearths,  his  own  graves, 
and  only  hear  the  roar  of  your  battle  afar  off. 

"  Brother :  The  wampum-belt  has  been  sent  amongst  the  tribe?,  Uut 
it  is  in  amity.  It  is  the  pledge  of  faith  between  us,  and  it  means  too, 
that  we  will  fight  against  you  or  the  British,  whichever  shall  molest 
us.  liespect  our  rights  and  you  have  nothing  to  fear.  Plant  your 
foot  upon  the  red  man's  soil  and  it  is  felt-  from  the  Lakes,  to  the 
mouth  of  the  great  river  Mississippi." 

Tecumseh  was  followed  by  others,  who  replied  at  length  to  the 
charges  of  Harrison,  and  dwelt  long  upon  the  aggressions  of  the 
whites.  The  General,  finding  it  vain  to  hope  for  any  arrangement  in 
accordance  with  his  own  views,  arose  to  depart. 

At  this  moment,  Mansfield,  who  had  accompanied  him,  bsheld  Mr. 
Mason  and  Alice  approaching  the  spot.     The  former  addressed  them  . 
without  hesitation,  while  Alice  stood  a  little  apart,  looking  anxiously 
upon  the  array  of  dusky  warriors. 

"  Good  morning,  Gineral,  you're  ^lirrin^airly  this  mornin'.  These 
varmint7s7erri"to  be  mighty  stiil  here.  Don't  you  thinklhe're  hatch- 
in£  some  plot  to  butcher  usl"  and  then,  without  waiting  for  a  reply, 
he  went  on. 

"This  young  woman  here  is  named  Durand.  She  was  one  of  the 
family  murdered  by  the  Injins,  and  now  she  is  persuaded  that  a  sister 
of  hers  is  among  them;  only  because  Mr.  Mansfidd  saw  a  white 
girl  living  there  who  happened  to  loek  like  her.  But  I  am  more 
thinking  it  may  be  one  of  those  French  gals,  that  seem  to  like  the 
Injins  about  as  well  as  the  whites.  Howsomev?r,  nothing  would  do 
but  she  must  come  out  here  to  see  Tecumseh  about  her,  and  see  what 
can  be  done  to  bring  her  back." 


CAPTIVE. 


THE     NEW     WORLD 


17 


The  General  addressed  her  courteously,  and  returned  where  Te-  !  from  surprise,  from  skirmishes  with  ambushed  foes,  and  the  fatigues 
cumseh  remained  standing  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree.  j  and  sufferings  of  a  long  journey  to  one  delicately  nurtured,  to  say 

Instantly,  as  Alice  beheld  him, she  exclaimed, "  It  is  the  very  chief    nothing  of  the  dangers  of  a  residence  with  them,  and  the  improba- 
to  whom  my  sister  fled  for  protection  :"  and  then,  forgetful  of  all  but  >  bility  that  Margaret  would  be  prevailed  upon  to  return  to  the  settle 
ments.    All  these  things  crowded  upon  his  mind,  and  filled  him  with 
perplexity.     The  more  he  thought  upon  it,  the  more  preposterous 
did  the  project  appear      Its  terrors  grew  upon  the  imagination  every 


her  own  anxious  thoughts,  she  addressed  him. 

"  Tell  me,  O  chief,  were  you  not  of  the  party  that  destroyed  the 
family  of  Durand  V 

The  warrior  at  once  dropped  the  expression  of  apathy  he  had  be 


moment,  aad  when  Alice  placed  her  arm  within  that  of  Mr.  Mason, 


fore  worn,  and  started  forward  with  a  look  of  fierce  displeasure,  the  ':  waving  him*  cheerful  good  morning,  he  followed  her  retreating 


attitude  of  a  tiger  about  to  spring  upon  his  prey  :  "  Tecumseh  wet 
not  his  tomahawk  in  the  blood  of  women  and  children.  Who  can 
point  to  the  cabin  fired  by  his  hand  1  or  show  the  scalp  of  an  old  man 
among  his  trophies  !" 


figure  as  that  of  one  doomed  to  unknown  suffering. 

He  returned  to  the  city,  silently,  by  the  side  of  General  Harrison, 
inwardly  resolving  to  follow  tha  natives  to  Tippecanoe,  and  as  fax 
as  possible  shield  the  footsteps  of  the  devoted  girl.    The  good  Gene- 
AssurmHg  his  wonted   look  of  dignified  composure,  he  folded  his    ral  came  to  his  aid  by  proposing  to  make  him  the  bearer  of  a  meg- 
anus  and  looked  upon  the  face  of  Alice,  as  she  stood  shrinking,  yet  ,sage  to  the  chiefs,  recommending  Miss  Durand  to  their  protection, 
resolute  to  pursue  her  holy  mission.     Slowly  a  smile  grew  upon  the !  i  He  hinted,  too,  the   propriety  of  delaying  his  departure,  as  well 
face  of  the  chief,  one  of  those  inexpressibly  beautiful  smiles  which    from  respect  to  Alice  as  public  opinion.     The  youth  of  course  ac 
quiesced,  but  deprecating  in  round  terms  the  baseness  of  idle  scandal, 
and  the  propensity  of  the  world  to  interfere  with  that  in  which  it 
had  no  concernment.     His  feelings  softened  again  as  he  thought  of 


rendered  him  so  remarkable.  His  lips  parted,  displaying  teeth  white 
and  even,  and  he  waved  his  hand  in  token  of  silence  as  he  was  about 
to  speak. 

"Did  not  the  maiden  creep  beneath  a  heap  of  wood,  her  lips  red 


the  maindenly  refinement  of  Alice  ;   her  gentleness  combined  with 


with  the  wild  berry,  and  cheek  white  and  cold,  and  there  behold  the:  dignity  ;  the  dignity  not  of  manner,  which  can  be  easily  assumed, 


death  of  her  kindred  T' 

"Most  true,"  replied  Alice,  "I  was  fearf'.'.I  and  selfish. 


But  0! 


bitterly,  most  bitterly  have  I  deplored.  Margaret  was  bold  and  gene 
rous,  and  she  plead  to  preserve  the  life  of  those  she  loved.  She  held 
up  her  arras  to  you  —  did  you  spare  herl  does  she  live  1"  She  spoke  j 
in  a  deep  tremulous  voice,  her  features  contracted  into  an  expression 
of  intense  anxiety,  her  breathing  short  and  hurried,  as  if  life  itself! 
hung  upon  her  reply. 

Tecumseh  seemsd  willing  to  sport  with  her  emotion.  He  appeared 
studying  the  lineaments  of  her  face  as  it  was  raised  to  his  own,  and  : 
his  reply  was  clear  and  studied. 

"  Tecumseh  goes  to  war  only  with  men.  The  blood  of  a  child 
never  stained  his  weapon.  He  heard  the  shrieks  of  the  dying,  while 
the  followers  of  Winnemac,  the  friend  of  the  white  man,"  and  h<- 
glanced  derisively  at  General  Harrison,  "  had  sunk  their  tomahawks 
into  the  skull  of  their  white  friends.  I  beheld  the  maiden  in  her 
paleness  aad  terror  as  she  lay  concealed,  and  the  noble  girl  who  would 
have  Sived  the  scalp  of  her  father.  Tecumseh  spread  his  shield  over 
her,  and  she  was  safe  !" 

During  this  recital  Alice  had  gazed  upon  him  with  parted  lips; 
when  he  ceased  she  breathed  heavily,  and  would  have  fallen  to  the 


but  that  which  arises  from  native  innocence,  the  majesty  with 
which  goodness  is  always  wont  to  invest  her  votaries.  He  recalled 
her  smile,  the  tones  of  her  voice,  till  the  course  that  she  would  have 
dictated  became  the  best  of  all  others,  and  the  one  to  be  adopted  by- 
himself. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

We  in  one  mother's  arms  were  locked— 

Long  be  her  love  repaid  ; 
In  the  same  cradle  we  were  rocked, 

Round  the  same  hearth  we  played.—  Cms.  SPRAOPI. 
MRS.  MASON  looked  in  the  face  of  Alice  sadly  for  more  than  a 
minute,  without  speaking,  when  told  of  her  determination  to  seek 
her  sister  in  the  Indian  settlement.  She  then  gently  undid  her  boa- 
net,  divested  her  of  her  shawl,  and  stroked  the  soft  hair  upon  her 
brow  tenderly,  as  she  would  caress  a  sick  child. 

"  Poor  dear  child,"  she  said,  "  you  are  ill.  I  will  make  you  a 
drink  of  herb  tea,  and  pat  you  to  bed,  and  you  will  soon  be  better. 
Your  hands  are  cold,  and  head  burning  hot.  These  troubles  are  too 
much  for  you,  poor  child.  Grandmam,  please  touch  the  cradle  with 
your  foot,  while  I  take  care  of  Alic?." 

I  must  be  ready  to  go  at  early  dawn,"  said  Alice,  as  she  looked 


ground,  had  not  Mansfield  sustained  her.     Pressing  her  hand  to  her  |  round  upon  the  familiar  room ;  and  it  may  be  the  thought  cross 
brow,  and  declining  further  aid,  she  arose  and  again  addressed  the    mind  that  she  might  never  raturn,  for  tears  gathered  in  her  e>es,  ai 

she  bent  down  to  kiss  the  cheek  of  little  Jimmy,  who  was  regarding 


chief. 

Can  my  sister  be  restored  to  us! 


Will  she  not  leave  her  wild 


her  with  open  mouth. 

life,  and  come  to  live  with  us  again  1    We  are  both  desolate.     Let  us        »  Have  you  gone  crazy,  Alice  r  said  the  child,  spea 
dwell  together.     I  will  go  with  you,  and  she  cannot  refuse  the  plead-    peeping  at  a  little  distance, 
ings  of  a  sister  "  "  Crazy  !  no  indeed ;  what  made  you  think 

As  she  uttered  this  she  laid  her  hand  within  that  of  the  chief,  and  :  ]     »  Why,  mother  says  you  are,  and  she  shall 
looked  up  with  an  expression  akin  to  that  of  her  more  daring  sister,  ^shan't  go  to  the  Injms." 

.  ,  „  « v0    Tames  I  am  coin"  to  bring  home  a  dear  sister.     The  in- 

repeating,  "I  will  go  with  you."  JN°>  Jal! 

Tecumseh'*  brow   relaxed  with  another  of  those  winning  smiles ildians  wont  hurt  me." 
as  he  replied  "They   will,  they  will;"  returned   the   boy,  beginning 

"There  spoke  the  spirit  of  the  Sway  ing-Reed.     Margaret  is  brave  j  j«  They  will  take  your  hair  off  your  h 
and  beautiful-her  step  is  light  as  the  fawn's  upon  the  hill.     She  has  I ,  Don't  go,  don't  go  :»  and  he  clung  his  arms  around  1 
the  eye  of  the  hunter,  and  the  heart  of  the  warrior.     Wisdom  is  upon    ing  and  sobbing, 
her  lips.     Why  should  she  be  confined  to  the  toil  of  the  white  man's 

Q&ttSZ^*t^~%\Z^~ttt±XX+   • ';;• 

^ehM  be  cc-i  ssi-ti-jSi-r!  iss£tt£tt™™&£™ 

wilderness  to  seek  that  which  was  lost!    Indeed,  Anna,  can  yon 


7  ana  s  juuiug.  . 

»  Dear  Anna,"  said  Alice,  observing  her  about  to  make  the  h 
don't  make  anything  for  me.     I  am  perfectly  well. 


«,,«,..,          wirena.b.r  «  .o.he,,  ,ea,,  our 
pr,yer,,nd  A.wi.1  return,"  the  „.„  gathered  ,„  he,  own  ,,ev 
and  she  turned  to  conceal  them. 

"The  maiden  shall  go  with  me,"   replied  the  chief,  "  and  **| 
shall  be  safe."  , 

"It  must  not  be,"  eagerly  returned  Henry  Mansfidd  ;  ••  for  if  she! 

goes  I  will  be  her  protector." 

Alice  looked  up,  and  a  blush  overspread  her  cheek  and  neck 

"I  feel  that  I  shall  be  safe  under  the  prote  ct.on  of  thisge  neroj. 

chief.     It  were  not  maidenly  to  receive  other  aid.     Mr.  Maasfi 


jg.rdin 

'  " 


,,„„„„ 
„„  ,„„,  ,„  the  old  W,  ».,  re- 

,       .  hirtpr  look 

muMnotweep; 

'  and  I  have  loved  you  most  tenderly. 

make  me  happy,  and  the  Almighty 
f     .       B      A         the  face  of  Margaret  gleams  upon 
d£S  when  our  father  laid  his  hands  upon 

poormotherPrest  her  lips  to  ours.     Oh,  Ann,, 
•*  »7P  ^  ^  ^  ^.^  ^^  fhou]d  g<> 


18 


THE     NEW     WQRLD 


THE  WESTERN 


"  No,  child,"  she  said,  "  it's  nowise  strange  you  should  want  to||  to  the  Indian  village  in  search  of  a  lost  sister,  many  of  the  inhab- 
go  and  find  your  sister,  and  if  Ann  Spaulding  had  any  kind  of  feel- !  j  itants  of  the  city  came  out  to  get  a  glimpse  of  her  sweet  face,  and 


I  advise  you  to  go,  you'll  never  be  i  |  to  utter  a  benediction  upon  her  innocent  head.     Though  personally 

known  to  few,  her  misfortunes  were  known  to  all ;  and  scarcely  a 
dry  eye  followed  the  beautiful  white  girl,  as  her  slight  figure  disap 
peared  in  the  distance,  where  she  rode  beside  the  stately  form  of 
Tecumseh. 

Henry  Mansfield  had  not  ventured  to  say  adieu,  and  for  awhile 


ing,  she  would  not  think  it  was. 
the  worse  for  it." 

No  sooner  had  Mrs.  Jones  commenced  her  reproaches,  than 
Anna's  tears  were  dried  as  if  by  magic.  She  wiped  her  eyes,  and 
removing  her  apron,  replied, 

"  I  am  sure,  Alice,  you  doa't  think  I  meant  to  blame  you  for  any 
thing.  But  when  you  spoke  so  tenderly  of  a  sister,  I  thought  of;  |  Alice  looked  searchingly  among  the  crowd,  hardly  daring  to  say 
myself."  Here  her  tears  flowed  afresh.  Suppressing  them  with  an  i  even  to  her  own  heart,  it  was  for  him;  but  when  he  came  not,  a 
effort,  she  went  on.  "  I  thought  if  I  only  had  a  relative  in  the  wide  j  faint  sigh  stole  from  her  lips,  and  she  inwardly  said,  "  I  ought  not-to 
world,  I  would  do  just  so.  I  would  go  into  the  woods,  miles  and; 'have  expected  it."  She  had  known  so  much  of  sorrow,  that  disap- 
miles.  I  would  suffer  hunger  and  fatigue,  anything  to  tell  them  ofl|  pointment  never  came  unlocked  for.  In  the  meanwhile,  Henry 
my  attachment,  and  to  win  their  love.  But  oh,  Alice,  strangers  are  jj  stood  apart,  leaning  against  a  tree,  his  arms  folded  across  his  breast, 
often  kinder  to  us  than  those  of  our  own  blood.  Can't  we,  by!  and  his  face  pale  as  marble.  He  looked  upon  her  white  cheek  and 
being  loving  ourselves,  teach  children  to  love  1"  and  she  drew  little  i  slight  frame,  and  shuddered  to  think  of  the  sufferings  to  which  she 
Jimmy  to  her  side  and  kissed  his  cheek.  jj  might  be  exposed.  When  General  Harrison  gave  her  his  paternal 

"I  am  sure,  mother,  I  love  you,"  said  the  boy,  "and  Alice,  and  j[  benediction,  he  envied  him  the  privilege  and  the  assurance  which 
father,  and  grandmam,  and  the  baby;"  and  he  began  to  tumble  and  Jhis  age  and  character  imparted,  and  thought  hew  he  should  have 
-frolic  with  it  as  he  spoke. 

"And  we  all  love  each  other,"  said  Mr.  Mason,  as  he  entered  the 
door,  and  hung  his  hat  upon  a  peg  behind  it.  "  I  do  wish,  Alice, 


i  stammered  in  uttering  the  simplest  thing  at  such  a  time, 
the  crowd  dispersed,  each  with  his  own  comments,  and  all  omimous 
of  evil.     Many  were  the  glances  sent  to  catch  a  last  glimpse  of  the 

you  would  abandon  this  project.     It  seems  to  be  so  dangerous ;  and!  fair  girl;  and  her  beauty,  her  gentleness,  and  misfortunes  became 
.Mr.  Mansfield  says  if  you  will,  he  will  go  back  to  the  town  and  see  j  the  more  impresshe,  as  perils  thickened  about  her.     So  Death,  the 


if  he  can  prevail  upon  her  to  return  to  us." 

Alice  blushed  deeply.  "  You  know  he  told  us  that  she  declared 
her  determination  never  to  return.  I  must  go.  I  must  see  her. 
She  grows  every  momen-t  more  dear  te  me ;  and  if  she  will  not 
-come  with  us,  I  must  btay  with  her." 

"That  is  rather  cruel,  Alice,"  said  Mr.  Mason,  reproachfully. 

"  Pardon  me,  I  meant  not  so.  I  do  appreciate  all  your  kindness; 
but  you  cannot  tell  how  my  heart  is  drawn  out  in  love  to  that  com 
panion  of  childhood." 

"  Say  no  more,  Alice,  say  no  more.  I  do  understand  all  you  feel ; 
and  I  know  that  He  who  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb  will 


great  scorcher  of  living  hearts,  buries  the  faults  of  the  dead  only  to 
open  the  eyes  of  the  living  to  their  own,  and  all  errors  are  the  more 
glaring  as  the  spirit  brings  '  all  things  to  recollection,'  whatsoever 
was  lovely  in  the  departed. 

Alice  had  mingled  but  little  among  them,  and  her  face  was 
scarcely  known;  and  now,  as  they  beheld  it  for  the  first  time,  and 
in  the  act  of  self-sacrificing  affection,  it  became  invested  with  a 
mysterious  and  spiritual  beauty,  which  all  were  ready  to  believe 
ominous  of  the  doom  that  awaited  her. 

Mansfield  saw  and  felt  all  this,  and  the  tears  started  to  his  eyes  as 
he  thought  his  should  be  the  privilege  to  be  with  the  sweet  girl  in 


make  all  things  work  together  for  your  good.  Let  us  a:semble  j  j  the  long  and  perilous  march,  to  shield  her  from  evil,  and  anticipate 
around  the  family  altar,  and  ask  His  blessing  upon  all  that  we  do.''  j  her  wants ;  and  so  respectful  should  be  his  attentions,  that  even 
Taking  down  the  large  bible,  he  read  the  beautiful  and  affecting  Ian-  i !  Alice,  delicate  and  maidenly  as  slw  was,  should  receive  them  as  from 
guage  of  the  Saviour  as  given  by  St.  John,  "Let  not  your  heart  be  ija  brother  :  for  was  she  not  as  a  sister  to  hitnl  He  trembled  as  he 
troubled,"  &c  ,  then  laying  aside  the  sacred  volume,  he,  with  more  :  thought;  for  the  emotions  awakened  by  her  calm  and  simple  beauty, 
than  his  ordinary  fervency,  poured  out  his  desires  before  the  Infinite,  j  j  were  so  unlike  those  from  beholding  the  more  radiant  Margaret, 
the  Great  Father,  who  knoweth  all  our  wants,  and  is  ever  ready  toll  that  he  was  sure  they  could  be  no  more  than  the  tenderness  one 
impart  wisdom  and  strength.  i '  would  feel  for  a  gentle  and  suffering  sister. 

When  Alice  retired  to  her  bed,  it  was  with  more  of  hope  and  hap- : !  Tecumseh  had  sent  on  the  main  body  of  his  warriors  in  advance 
pinfss  than  she  had  known  for  many  years.  She  could  think  of ;!  of  his  own  little  escort,  that  was  to  accompany  Alice  ;  and  he  now 
Margaret  only  as  the  same  ardent,  joyous  being  she  was  at  the  time  adapted  his  pace  to  her  comfort,  with  a  refinement  worthy  of  a 
of  their  cruel  separation,  and  she  doubted  not  her  heart  would  as  |  higher  state  of  cultivation.  Alice,  though  apparently  timid  and  dis- 
Teadily  respond  to  the  laaguage  of  affection.  Then,  she  thought  of  trustful,  had  still  all  a  woman's  fortitude  and  resolution,  when  thrown 
the  young  stranger  who  had  so  kindly  interested  himself  in  her  be-  i  upon  her  own  resources.  As  the  dangers  of  her  situation  grew  upon 
'half.  She  tried  to  think  it  but  the  dictate  of  common  humanity  ;  j  her  imagination,  and,  in  the  solitudes  of  the  forest,  appeared  greater 
•but  still  she  dwelt  upon  his  noble  'features,  his  manliness  and  kind-  i  j  than  they  were  in  reality,  she  felt  her  own  nature  grow  strong  within 
ness  of  manner,  till  even  his  image  grew  indistinct  in  the  shadowy  j  her,  and  resigned  herself  to  her  situation  with  a  spirit  prepared  for 


visions  that  gathered  around  her  slumbering  pillow. 


any  emergency.     She  looked  in  the  face  of  her  noble  conductor,  and 


ice  to  do  anything  for  herself.     Tne  old  lady  busied  herself ! !  that  swept  across  their  path,  he  took  the  bridle  of  her  horse,  and  led 
iaring  dough-nuts  and  other  little  dainties  for  her  use  on  the  i  him  through  the  torrent,  gratified  to  perceive  in  her  no  womanly  to- 


With  those  in  the  middling  classes  of  life,  benevolence  is  not  con-  n  read  there  so  much  of  all  that  is  best  in  the  human  heart,  that  a 
fined  to  its  mere  expression:  it  goes  forth  into  active  kindness,  and  }  strange  and  unlooked-for  sympathy  took  the  place  of  that  awe  with 
prompts  to  a  thousand  offices  of  love  and  forethought,  scarcely  ;  which  ehe  had  hitherto  regarded  him  She  saw  him  choose  out  the 
dreamed  of  by  those  who  entrust  everything  to  the  care  cf  servants. : '  smoothest  and  most  sheltered  paths,  that  the  low  wood  or  the  burning 
'The  simple  wardrobe  of  Alice  was  arranged  entirely  by  Mrs.  Ma-ijsun  might  not  incommode  her;  and  that,  too,  while  hia  followers 
son;  for  in  the  tenderness  of  her  solicitude,  she  would  scarcely  al-!| dashed  on,  regardless  of  all  impediments.  In  fording  the  streams 
low  Alice 
in  preparin, 

journey,  sewing  them  into  the  white  napkin  with  her  own  trembling 
bands. 

It  was  a  sad  day  when  Alice  mounted  the  steed  prepared  by  Mr. 
Mason,  and  bade  adieu  to  the  little  family.  Many  were  the  tears 
shed,  and  the  last  words  of  caution  and  advice;  and  then,  when  the 
sound  of  her  horse's  feet  died  away  in  the  distance,  Anna  threw 
herself  upon  her  bed,  and  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  She 
wondered  more  than  ever  that  she  could  have  parted  with  her,  and 
she  felt  how  lonely  would  she  herself  be  in  the  long  summer  days 
when  her  husband  was  away  m  the  field^and  she  should  have  no 


kens  of  fear.  At  noon,  he  spread  skins  for  her  to  repose  under  the 
shadow  of  the  woods,  and  brought  water  with  his  own  hands  from 
the  brook,  as  she  partook  of  their  simple  repast.  His  words  were 
few,  but  always  in  a  voice  low  and  winning,  with  that  same  remark 
able  smile,  that  contrasted  so  strongly  with  the  usual  sad  and  even 
stern  expression  of  his  face. 

They  had  emerged  from  the  woods,  and  were  in  the  outskirts  of  a 
prairie,  that  undulated  far  off  upon  the  horizon  like  a  sea  of  verdure, 
when  Tecumseh  paused  upon  the  elevation  they  had  gained,  and 
cast  his  eye  over  the  broad  prospect  that  opened  before  them.  In 


one  to  speak  to,  no  kind  face  to  which  she  might  app«al  when!  the  rear,  growing  dim  and  indistinct  in  the  distance,  appeared  the 
wearied  with  the  ill-humor  of  the  old  lady.  Even  the  old  dame  sat  j  |  clustered  dwellings  of  the  white  settlers,  with  their  waving  fields  of 
rockiBgher  body  back  and  forth,  occasionally  giving  utterance  to  ajj grain  and  cultivated  enclosures.  At  their  right  swept  far  offa  forest 


deep  groan,  and  an  ejaculation,  "It  is  the  Lord's  will.' 

Mr.  Mascn  took  his  leave  as  the  Indian  cavalcade  commenced 
their  march.     When  it  was  rumored  that  Alice  Durand  was  geing 


i  of  greea  trees,  as^yet  untouched  by  the  axe  of  the  settler;  the  old 
|  primeval  woods  ^reposing  in  the  dim  majesty  of  many  centuries,  and 
I  their  giant  arms  outstretched  in  the  rega^pomp  of  by-gone  and  un- 


CAPTIVE. 


THE    NEW     WORLD. 


counted  years.  At  the  left  were  vistas  in  the  green  woods,  bright 
streams,  smiling  and  singing  onward  in  the  summer  light,  ehaets  of 
water  in  which  the  water-fowl  dipped  its  beak,  and  the  trees  stoeped 
down  to  the  very  brink,  as  if  in  love  with  their  owa  images  reflected 
iu  the  crystal  beneath.  The  smoke  of  the  Indian  wigwam  went  up 
like  a  scarcely  perceptible  mist  in  the  thin  air,  and  through  the  long 
perspective  might  be  seen  herds  of  deer,  with  their  antlered  heads 
proudly  elevated,  and  their  penciled  limbs  scarcely  visible  in  the  speed 
of  their  motions.  In  front  was  the  great  prairie,  relieved  by  a  long 
line  of  hills  painted  upon  the  horizon,  and  the  mist  that  hung  over 
the  great  lakes  disposing  itself  into  clouds  of  every  variety  of  form, 
stretching  high  up  into  the  azure  vault,  or  reposing  like  fairy  isles  in 
a  sea  of  blue. 

Tecumseh  drew  to  the  side  of  the  maiden. 

"  Is  it  not  a  worthy  inheritance  V  he  said,  as  he  stretched  out 
his  arm,  and  circled  slowly  the  glorious  picture  belieath  them. 

"Beautiful!  most  beaatiful !"  responded  Alice;  and  in  the  gush 
of  her  enthusiasm,  the  tears  gathered  to  her  eyes,  and  sh«  turned 
from  the  beauty  of  the  earth  and  looked  in  the  face  of  her  noble 
conductor.  . 

Tecumseh  regarded  her  with  a  saddened  smile  ;  and  Alice  felt, 
were  it  not  for  the  majesty  of  his  sorrow,  she  might  have  dared  to 
pity  the  chief,  whose  thoughts  she  knew  were  dwelling  upon  the 
former  glory  of  his  people,  and  their  present  feebleness  and  decay. 
As  it  was,  she  could  feel  nothing  but  a  strange  admiration  and  sym 
pathy.  Her  eyes  fell  slowly,  and  a  sigh  escaped  her  bosom.  The 
chief  moved  not,  but  he  answered  the  sigh  heavily. 

"  Maiden,  the  white  man  is  spared,  only  that  ths  Indian  remembers 
that  such  as  thou  art  dwell  with  him.  But  the  Indian's  wrongs  are 
many  and  great.  Look  around  us :  all  that  you  behold  was  once 
his  :  it  was  the  gift  of  the  Great  Spirit.  He  built  his  fires  and  pur 
sued  his  game,  and  there  was  nothing  to  make  his  heart  faint.  But 
it  is  past.  The  Indian  is  an  outcast  and  a  wanderer.  The  white 
man  marches  up  with  fire  and  sword,  forward,  forward :  and  the 
deadly  bullet  is  sent  before  him,  and  the  warriors  retreat,  shielding 
their  women  and  their  children,  and  falling  down  to  die  in  the  vast 
wilderness ;  and  the  few  that  are  left  will  be  lost  in  the  great  water? 
of  the  setting  sun." 

This  was  uttered  in.  a  deep,  solemn  voice,  with  slow,  melancholy- 
action  ;  and,  in  its  dying  close,  Alice  seemed  almost  to  behold  the 
extinction  of  the  tribes.  She  clasped  her  hands  over  the  saddle,  and 
looked  wonderingly  up  as  the  chief  went  on.  His  eye  lu .idled,  and 
his  action  assumed  greater  animation,  though  he  never  for  a  moment 
forgot  the  gentleness  of  the  fair  girl  at  his  side. 

"Bif,  maiden,  the  Great  Spirit  has  decreed  that  his  children  shall 
no  more  flee  like  the  deer  before  the  hunter.  He  has  commanded 
them  to  drive  the  whites  to  the  other  side  of  the  great  mountains, 
and  there  hold  them  at  bay.  The  white  man  must  leave  the  Indian 
to  hold  this  side  of  the  mountains  as  his  own.  The  Indian  hath 
planted  his  foot ;  it  is  the  soil  of  his  fathers.  He  will  build  his 
smokes  here — die  here ;  or  blood  will  come  of  it !" 

Alice  turned  pale,  as  the  picture  of  burning  dwelling?,  and  slaugh 
tered  inhabitants,  presented  itself  to  her  eye,  and  she  replied  ear 
nestly  :  "  The  red  chief  is  generous ;  he  is  humane  ;  he  will  not  dip 
his  hands  in  human  blood.  He  haa  mothers,  and  sisters,  and  chil 
dren  among  his  own  people,  and  he  will  have  compassion  upon  those 
of  his  white  brother." 

"  Nobly  hast  thou  spoken,  maiden ;  Tecumseh  delights  not  in  war 
He  will  visit  our  white  father  at  Washington,  and  tell  him  to  stop  the 
purchase  of  our  lands.  He  will  remove  his  people  quietly  into  his 
own  land,  andlleava  us  ours.  The  highmouiUains'must  be  a  wall  to 
divide  the  red  man  from  the  white  :  they  are  not  the  same  people— 
they  cannot  live  together.  True,  maiden,  we  have  wives  and  daugh 
ters  ;  and  it  is  for  their  defence  that  the  Indian  has  united  to  become 
one  people.  But,  Uiink  you,  when  the  white  man  bends  his  lips  to 
the  cheek  of  the  beautiful,  that  he  remembers  the  Indian  is  drawn  to 
t'~ "  maidens  of  his  own  people  with  a  like^emotion  1  No,  no  !  he  is 
but  as  the  wild  beast  that  prowleth  in  the'desert,  to  whom  love  and 
gentleness  are  unknown." 

A.._e  bowed  her  head,  for  she  felt  there  was  too  much  of  truth  in 
what  he  uttered.  Tecumseh  mused  a  moaient  in  silence,  and  then, 
giving  the  reins  to  his  horse,  they  entered  upon  the  prairie.  Desi 
rous  to  change  the  current  of  his  thoughts,  Alice  ventured  some  in 
quiries  as  to  Margaret.  She  raised  her  eyes  timidly  to  the  face  of 
her  dusky  guide,  and  a'  momentary  fear  came  over  her ;  but  the 
thought  of  Margaret  again  u*wired  her,  and  she  spoke. 

"Ta  M-ar,,,.  i«t  KCI™OJ  «r  th»  Indian  maidens  !    Is  she  joyous  and 


Dutiful  1  or  has  she  ceased  to  be  the  gay,  proud  girl  that  we  once 
oved  1     Oh,  if  I  could  see  her  look  as  she  once  did  !  hear  ter  epeak- 
ind  see  her  smile,  53  she  did  whea  we  were  children  together,  life 
would  be  too  blissful !" 

The  chief  listened  with  a  smile.  "  The  Swaying  Reed  is  beau- 
iful;  hers  is  the  beauty  of  the  wild  blossom,  the  smile  of  the  sua 
vhen  he  stealeth  through  the  leaves  to  play  upon  the  still  waters, 
nd  the  wind  awakens  it  to  dimples.  Her  voice  is  sweet  as  that  of 
he  spirit-bird,  that  singeth  all  night  amid  the  branches.  The  maiden 
s  proud,  and  wise,  for  the  Great  Spirit  talketh  to  her  in  her  slum 
bers." 

"  But  has  she  forgotten  to  worship  the  God  of  her  fathers — to  bow 
[own  to  the  one  only  true  God  ?"  asked  Alic»,  earnestly,  as  she,  for 
he  first  time,  began  to  feel  that  the  bonds  of  sympathy  might  have 
>ecome  weak  between  them. 

A  shade  stole  over  the  features  of  the  chief.  He  waa  silent  for 
nearly  a  minute  before  he  replied. 

"The  Swaying  Reed  worships  the  Great  Spirit,  but  not  like  her 
white  fathers  upon  bended  knees  and  with  loud  words,  in  temples 
reared  by  skilful  hands,  with  the  music  of  many  voices.  N«!  she 
olds  her  hands  upon  her  bosom,  and  in  the  solitude  of  her  own 
hougbts,  in  the  calm  of  the  great  woods,  her  spirit  goeth  forth,  and 
mingleth  with  the  universal  spirit,  till  she  is  a  part  of  all  that  is  good 
and  infinite  about  her.  The  broad  arch  of  the  overhanging  sky, 
with  the  light  of  innumerable  stars — the  green  earth,  with  its  old 
woods  and  bespangled  blossoms;  the  drapery  of  many  clouds,  and 
ascending  mists,  are  to  her  a  temple  of  adoration.  The  sound  of 
many  waters,  the  melody  of  birds,  and  the  swaying  of  trees,  send  up 
heir  tones  of  worthiest  music  ;  and  her  thoughts  blend  in  the  midst, 
ike  the  sweet  offering  that  the  sleeping  plant  scndeth  upward  AS  the 
shadows  of  evening  gather  about  it." 

Alice  listened,  enchanted  by  the  fervor  and  unlocked  for  elo 
quence  of  the  chief;  and,  for  a  moment,  she  could  not  but  feel  how 
much  more  worthy  were  the  temple  he  had  described,  than  the  most 
gorgeous  tabernacle  reared  by  hsman  hands — the  worship  from  such 
aa  altar,  than  the  most  elaborate  ceremonial  of  human  institutions. 
Still  she  would  rather  have  known  that  Margaret,  mindful  of  early 
instruction,  had  knelt  by  her  bsd  night  and  morning,  and  prayed,  as 
had  been  their  wont  in  childhood.  This  vague  and  solitary  worship, 
did  it  really  exist,  seemed  to  her  pious  mind,  always  accustomed  to 
times  and  forms,  so  precaiious,  that  she  hardly  dared  to  call  it  wor 
ship.  Gradually  the  impression  of  abstract  truths  faded  from  her 
mind,  and  slowly  a  fearful  surmise  gathered  upon  it,  assuming  form 
and  distinctness.  It  passed  over  her  like  an  unearthly  chill ;  and  so 
palpable  did  it  appear,  that  she  felt  as  if  a  fearful  gulf  already  se 
parated  the  lost  and  beloved  from  herself,  and  from  all  companion 
ship  and  sympathy.  She  looked  upon  the  chief,  with  his  manliness 
and  beauty,  his  winning  smile,  and  melodious  voice  ;  his  passionate, 
and  yet  subdued  eloquence  ;  his  humanity,  and  yet  well-known  cou 
rage  in  battle;  and  as  all  these  things  gathered  upon  her  fancy,  his 
person  seemed  to  assume  still  more  of  majesty  and  beauty  ;  and  she 
grew  sick  at  heart,  as  she  thought  how  unlikely  it  was  that  a  maidf  a 
like  Margaret,  ardent,  prouJ,  and  enthusiastic,  should  resist  BO  many 
attractions,  when  deprived  of  the  society  of  her  own  people,  and 
subjected  entirely  to  their  influence.  A  sylvan  picture  gathered  upon 
her  mind's  eye,  of  a  cot  away  in  the  woods,  in  the  midst  of  vinee 
and  gushing  waters,  and  Margaret  standing  at  the  door  ia  robe  c 
skins,  and  armed  with  bow  and  quiver.  Margaret  seemed  already 
loat  to  her  for  ever,  so  vivid  became  the  picture,  and  .he  spieid  out 
her  hands  for  support. 

Tecumseh  looked  upoa  her  with  amazement ;  and,  h 
from  her  horse,  placed  her  gently  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees- 
for  they  had  reached  one  of  those  little  islands,  as  it  were,  of  1 
that  occasionally  rise,  like  the  oasis  of  the  desert,  in  the  raids 
the  surrounding  wilderness  of  verdure. 

"  I  have  seen  a  strange  dream,"  said  Alice,  recovering.  ' 
Margaret  had  ceased  to  love  her  own  people  ;  that  she  would  no 
more  return  to  us.     I  saw  her  away  in  the  wild  woods,  proud  and 
ijeautiful,  but  in  all  respects  like  an  Indian  maid." 

Tecumseh's  eye  gleamed  with  a  wild  and  startling  brilliancy, 
looked  off  int»  the  blue  space,  and  a  srmle  almost  of  triumph 
i,pon  his  lips.     It  maybe  that  a  new  dream  came  to  his  own  spin 
one  that,  in  the  midst  of  his  ambition,  acd  labors  of  patriotism,  had 
never  before  distinctly  came  to  his  eye.    He  beheld,  too,  the  vim 
,over*d  wigwam,  the  beautiful  girl  in  her  sylvan  robes    and  the  eye 
.rowing  more  radiant  at  his  own  approach.     Alice  felt  i 
worst  suspicions  were  confirmed,  but  great  was  her  rehef  whe 
chief  replied. 


THE      NEW     WORLD 


THE  WESTERN 


"Fear  not,  maiden,  that  the  Swaying  Reed  has  learned  to  weep, 
and  to  love.  She  is  alone  with  her  own  thoughts," — he  might  have 
said  more,  but  Henry  Mansfield,  emerging  from  a  clump  of  trees, 
reined  ^ip  his  steed  by  their  side,  and  he  was  silent.  A  glad  smile 
for  an  instant  lighted  the  face  of  Alice,  and  a  crimson  blush  over 
spread  cheek  and  brow.  Tecumseh  greeted  the  youth  with  one  of 
his  blandest  smiles,  and  the  party  again  sat  forward. 

It  would  be  uninteresting  to  follow  their  route  through  that  wild 
and   beautiful  wilderness;  to   describe  their  encampments  for  the 
night,  and  the  tender  and  respectful  attentions  bestowed  upon  Alice 
through  the  long  journey.     As  they  approached  the  village,  the  sun 
was  near  its  decline ;  and  the  rich  crimson  tints  were  spread  out 
upon  the  river,  and  lighted  up  vine  and  tree  from  the  sombreness  of 
their   repose,   as  if  a  trail  of  glory  delightedly  lingered   about  the 
green  earth.     Alice  felt  her  heart  beat  wildly  as  she  approached,  and 
her  breath  came  thick  and  heavily.     A  thousand  pictures  were  pre 
sented  to  her  mind,  gloomy  and  disheartening,  till  she  grew  exhausted 
at  the  contemplation.     Tecumseh  conducted  her  by  the  river  path 
to  the  bower  before  described,  in  which  he  knew  that  Margaret 
would  be  likely  to  repose  at  this  hour  of  the  day.     Alice  caught  a 
view  of  a  maiden  half  reclining  iu  the  shadow,  caressing  a  white  j 
fawn  at  her  feet ;    and  she  saw  that  she  raised  her  eyes,  blushing 
deeply  at  the  entrance  of  the  chief.     He  stepped  aside,  and  revealed 
the  form  of  Alice.     Margaret's  radiant  eyes  assumed  an  expression  j 
of  searching  interest ;  her  bosom  slightly  heaved,  and  she  became 
deadly  pale.     Still  sh •;  neither  spoke  nor  moved.     Alice  rushed  for- j 
ward,  and  knelt  by  her  side  ;  and,  putting  her  arms  about  her  neck, 
whispered,  "  DJ  you  not  know  me,  my  own  dear,  dear  Margaret  V 
Slie  felt  herself  slightly  repulsed — the  girl  sighed  heavily,  raised  her ; 
eyes  reproachfully  to   those    of  the  chief,  and  fell  fainting  to  the  i 
ground. 

Alice  felt  a  dizziness  and  sickness  of  heart  gathering  about  her,  and 
all  her  dreams  of  attachment  and  sisterly  sympathy  seemed  suddenly 
to  evaporate  in  thin  air.  She  groaned  heavily,  and  pressed  her  hand 
to  the  cold  brow  of  Margaret. 

"Oh,  God!  that  we  should  be  spared  for  this.  Margaret,  dear 
Margaret,  say  but  one  word — say  that  you  love  me,  and  I  will  return 
again  through  the  wild  woods,  and  trouble  you  no  more." 

Margaret's  cold  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  face  without  a  single 
token  of  recognition.  Her  hands  were  clasped,  and  her  brow  con 
tracted,  and  yet  there  was  no  look  of  severity,  nothing  but  a  fixed, 
long  look  of  utter  wretchedness. 

Alice  burst  into  tears  and  was  silent.  Suddenly  a  painful  thought 
.crossed  her  mind. 

"  Oh,  can  it  be  1  Do  I  behold  you,  Margaret,  but  a  wreck  of  your 
better  nature ;  the  victim  of  cruelty  and  oppresion  V  and  she 
again  drew  her  to  her  bosom  and  kissed  her  white  lips. 

Margaret  gently  repulsed  her,  and  turned  away  her  head.  But 
the  fire  came  to  her  eye,  and  she  held  up  her  delicate  hand  as  if  to 
say,  "  Do  these  look  like  bondage  or  cruelty  V  Alice  turned  appeal- 
ingly  to  the  chief. 

"The  Swaying  Reed  hath  been  like  the  blossom  sheltered  in  its 
green  covering,  and  away  from  the  breath  of  the  storm." 

Margaret  rose  up,  and  with  tottering  steps  approached  the  cabin 
of  Minaree.  As  her  eye  rested  on  the  face  of  Ackoree,  the  beauty 
•of  the  tribe,  her  step  became  firmer,  and  a  portion  of  her  former 
pride  gathered  about  her  motions.  Alice  followed  mechanically  be 
hind  her,  feeling  as  if  the  golden  bowl  of  existence  had  been  sud 
denly  dashed  to  the  earth.  What  was  all  the  beauty  of  earth  and 
sky  to  her,  all  of  human  hope  and  happiness,  when  the  one  only 
staff  on  which  she  had  ventured  to  lean  was  thus  thrust  from  be 
neath  her.  The  friendly  chief  looked  pityingly  upon  her,  and  gave 
his  arm  for  support,  but  she  turned  away  saying,  "  Leave  rse  to  die, 
for  life  is  a  weariness."  Entering  the  cabin,  she  seated  herself  upon 
the  skins,  motionless  and  tearless.  The  good  Minaree  spread  her 
repast  before  them,  but  neither  could  speak  or  eat. 

The  twilight  faded  away,  the  bright  stars  came  forth,  and  the  full 

moon  stole  in  through  the  open  portal,  revealing  the  two  sisters, 

awake  and  motionless,  each  full  of  her  own  wild  and  troubled 

thoughts.    Each  was  deathly  pale,  and  each  felt  and  marvelled  at  the 

strange  repulsion  that  was  thus  separating  two  whose  childhood  had 

been  so  full  of  sympathy.     The  torch  of  Minaree  had  been  leng  ex- 

tingmahed,  and  her  regular  breathings  betokened  the  depth,   of  her 

'mber.    Alice  arose  and  looked  forth,  and  she  shrunk  with  awe 

i  the  wildnesa  and  beauty  of  the  scene  spread  out  before  her ; 

din*  forest  approaching  the  very  threshold,  and  the  sound  of  the 

:ox,  with  its  sharp  barking,  and  the  long,  melancholy  cry  of  the  owl 

tiered  almost  at  her  ear.    Near  the  banks  of  the  river,  motionless 


in  the  moonlight,  and  thrown  into  bold  relief  by  the  sparkling  waters, 
appeared  the  statue-like  form  of  a  warrior,  keeping  watch  over  the 
slumbering  village.     All  was  so  hushed  and  gloomy  in  its  midnight 
grandeur,  that  her  own  dcsolateness  weighed  the  heavier  upon  her 
spirits.     Closing  the  portal,  she  exclaimed,   "  Oh,  my  God,  that  I 
should  have  forgotten  thee  in  this  hour  of  trial !"     And  she  sank 
upon  her  knees,  in  the  very  agony  of  prayer,  uttering  the  sorrows  and 
j  the   desires  ef  a  stricken   heart.      Her  voice  was  tremulous,   and 
'choked  with  tears.     As  she  went  on,  the  soft  arm  of  Margaret  en- 
|  circled  her  neck,  and  she  whispered,  "Alice,  my  dear,  dear  sister !" 
| Their  lips  met,  and  they  wept  long  upon  the  bosom  of  each  other; 
and  when  sleep  stole  to  their  lids,  it  found  them  clasped  in  the  em 
brace  of  childhood. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

A.  loneliness  that  is  not  lone, 

A  love  quite  withered  up  and  gone. — J.  R.  LOWELL. 

SHORTLY  after  the  return  cf  Tecumseh,  the  party,  which  he  had 
sent  off  to  intercept,  and,  if  possible,  capture  Winnemac  and  the 
other  treacherous  chiefs,  returned  from  their  unsuccessful  enterprise. 
The  wily  chiefs  knew  too  well  the  dangers  to  which  they  were  ex 
posed,  to  omit  any  precautionary  measure.  It  required  the  most  ex 
perienced  observation,  and  '.he  keenest  instinct  of  the  savage,  to  de 
tect  the  almost  imperceptible  trail.  But  it  was  detected  and  followed 
!  with  the  certainty  and  keenness  of  the  bloodhound  in  pursuit  of  its 
I  prey.  The  crushed  blossom  and  the  tangled  grass,  though  restored 
to  their  original  position,  could  not  escape  the  practiced  eye  of  the 
Indian.  The  twig  slightly  bent,  the  moss  imperceptibly  rubbed  off, 
were  so  many  guides  to  direct  his  footsteps.  As  he  neared  the  foe, 
I  the  whirring  of  the  partridge  alarmed  in  its  coveit,  and  the  quick 
I  wing  of  the  wild  bird,  as  it  hurried  away,  told  cf  his  vicinity.  The 
|  crack  of  a  twig,  the  rustle  of  the  dry  grass  which  he  alone  could 
'distinguish  from  the  foot  of  the  wild  animal,  admonished  the  pursuer 
to  move  warily,  or  he  himself  might  be  betrayed.  Each  party  ted 
upon  the  dry  provisions  of  his  pouch,  or  such  bemes  as  appeared  ia 
their  path,  without  venturing  to  light  a  fire,  as  the  smoke  woulci  tell 
the  tale  of  proximity.  At  night,  the  pursuing  party  beheld  the  other 
i  sleep,  with  weapon  in  hand  and  a  trusty  and  vigilant  guard.  The 
j  orders  of  Tecumseh  were,  strictly,  to  shed  no  blood,  as  the  motive 
|  might  easily  be  misapprehended  ;  and  he  had  resolved  to  bring  the 
:  chit fs  before  a  grand  council  of  the  whole  confederated  tribes,  and 
there,  in  the  united  presence  of  the  representatives  of  those  whom 
they  had  wronged,  pronounce  their  condemnation,  and  offer  them  en 
the  shrine  of  Indian  patriotism. 

For  the  purpose  of  assembling  this  great  council,  Tecumseh  pro- 
!  posed  to  summon  the  various  chiefs  to  a  meeting  upon  the  banks  of 
|  the  Wabash.  He  earnestly  besought  his  followers  to  adhere  to  the 
'principles  of  pacification;  to  disregard  those  British  agitators,  who, 
'taking  advantage  of  the  growing  hostility  between  the  two  countries, 
;  were  desirous  to  conciliate  the  aid  of  the  northern  tribes,  as  power 
ful  auxiliaries  in  a  frontier  warfare.  He  represented  to  them  in 
glowing  colors,  the  perils  to  be  hazarded,  and  the  small  prospect  of 
i  advantage  to  be  gained  by  joining  themselves  to  either  of  the  belli 
gerent  parties.  They  were  a  nation  by  themselves,  with  interests  to 
be  promoted,  and  rights  to  be  maintained,  and  he  besought  them  to 
peril  nothing  by  an  indiscreet  participation  in  the  coming  troubles. 
j  An  uncompromising  neutrality  was  their  safest  and  best  course. 
;  He  urged  upon  them  the  necessity  of  study  in  the  arts  of  war,  the 
practice  of  their  national  games  and  festivities,  and  all  those  exer- 
|  cises,  whether  of  war  or  peace,  that  were  necessary  for  their  im 
provement  or  security. 

Eliskwatawa  enforced  the  instructions  of  his  brother  by  rites  and 
!  incantations,  for  the  voice  of  the  Great  Spirit  had  mingled  with  the 
visions  of  the  night,  and  represented  to  him  the  future  glory  of  the 
tribes.  He  had  beheld  cities  and  towns,  rivalling  the  prosperity  of 
the  whites,  gradually  filling  the  great  valley  of  the  Mississippi,  and  a 
people  prosperous  and  happy,  rejoicing  in  equable  laws,  and  free  from 
i  the  vic«s  of  the  white  man.  He  had  looked  upon  the  stars,  and  they 
in  their  courses  fought  against  t!-ie  white  man.*  Wrong  to  the  In 
dian,  injustice  of  every  kind,  and  war  aud  bloodshed  were  preparing 
I  a  fearful  retribution  for  the  white  man.  The  storms  and  frosts  of 
j  winter  were  passing  away,  and  the  tribes  were  rousing  themselves 
i  from  their  long  slumber,  and  ready  to  go  forth  in  the  strength  of  other 
years.  The  massasauga  lay  no  longer  ceiled  in  the  cleft  of  the  rock, 
feeble  and  inanimate,  but  with  glittering  eye,  and  radiant  hue,  rolled 


"  The  stars  in  their  courses  fought  against  Sisera,"  seems  to  be  a  beautiful 
astrological  allusion. 


CAPTIVE. 


THE     NEW     WORLD 


21 


itself  enwa-d,  with  neck  erect  and  tang  ready  to  strike  its  deadly  poi 
son  into  the  veins  of  its  foe. 

Kumshaka  listened  to  the  fervid  eloquence  of  his  brothers,  in 
gloom  and  silence.  New  and  vindictive  passions  were  at  work  in 
his  bosom,  and  he  inwardly  resolved  that  at  least  Tecumseh  should 
be  dashed  from  his  proud  preeminence,  let  the  consequence  be  what 
it  might.  What  to  him  were  the  dreams  of  ambition,  the  glory  cf 
his  people,  who  brooded  in  selfish  discontent  over  his  own  disap 
pointed  hopes,  and  dark  plans  of  revenge.  He  had  preceded  Te 
cumseh  on  his  return  to  the  village,  and  half  in  idleness,  half  in 
awakened  interest,  had  sought  out  Ackoree. 

He  found  her  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  slowly  drawing  a  net  to  the 
shore ;  her  small  fingers  grasping  the  threads ;  her  long  hair  falling  for 
ward,  revealing  the  faultless  neck  and  shoulders  on  which  glistened  the 
coral  beads,  which  he  had  placed  there.  The  sound  of  steps  arrested 
her,  and  still  holding  the  net  through  which  the  scaly  captives  were 
just  visible,  she  held  back  her  long  hair,  and  turned  partially  round. 
Her  bright  eyes  gleamed  with  more  than  their  wonted  brilliancy,  and 
the  ready  smile  was  upon  her  lips ;  again  dropping  her  hair,  she  play- 
^ally  yielded  the  net  to  the  chief,  and  seated  herself  upon  a  project 
ing  rock  while  he  drew  it  to  the  shore.  This  done,  the  chief  seated 
himself  bj  her  side,  and  played  with  the  long  glossy  threads  of  her 
hair. 

Ackoree  was  even  more  than  ordinarily  gay,  and  her  clear  laugh 
floated  away  on  the  air,  and  stirred  up  the  gratified  echoes.  And 
what  seemed  surprising  in  one  so  gay  and  giddy,  she  required  a  full 
account  of  the  proceedings  of  the  late  council,  and  the  probable 
course  to  be  adopted  by  the  tribes.  While  her  companion  went  on 
with  the  details,  all  the  levity  in  which  she  had  hitherto  indulged, 
disappeared  from  her  manner,  and  she  listened  with  composed  and 
engrossed  attention ;  when  he  ceased,  she  replied  slowly,  without 
raising  her  eyes  from  the  ground, 

"So,  then,  the  fang  is  to  be  extracted  from  the  massasauga,  that 
he  may  shake  his  rattles,  but  do  no  mischief.  Tecumseh  would 
bury  the  hatchet,  lest  its  edge  should  terrify  his  white  bride." 

"  The  white  girl  who  has  just  entered  the  village,  is  nothing  to 
Teeumseh.  She  is  the  sister  of  the  Swaying  Reed." 

''Very  true  ;  but  Tecumseh  is  much,  very  much,  to  the  Swaying 
Reed :"  and  she  fixed  her  eyes  stedfastly  upon  the  face  of  the  chief, 
to  see  what  effect  her  words  might  produce. 

He  drew  in  his  breath,  and  his  eyes  glittered  with  the  intensity  of 
the  serpent  about  to  spring  upon  its  victim;  clenching  the  locks  of 
liair  firmly  iu  his  hands  till  the  indignant  beauty  colored  with  rage, 
he  demanded  in  husky  tones  what  she  meant.  "Hive  they  dared  to 
1  ove  *" 

Ackoree  disentangled  her  hair,  and  uttered  aloiv  scornful  laugh  ; 
for  rage  and  jealousy  were  both  at  work  in  her  bosom. 

"Dare!  why  should  they  not  dare,  whit  Kumshaka  had  dared 
before  them  1  The  Indian  is  to  dwell  side  by  side  with  his  white 
brother,  that  the  white  bride  may  be  at  ease  in  her  wigwam." 

"  And  the  voice  of  the  Great  Spirit,  and  the  language  of  the  stars 
are  only  to  help  out  an  affair  of  love  !"  said  the  chief,  bitterly.  "  I 
will  expose  their  jugglery.  The  Indian  is  duped  by  his  own  leaders. 
The  coafederation  is  but  a  device  to  make  him  powerless  and  to  pro 
tect  the  whites."  But  even  while  he  spake  the  blood  rushed  to  his 
cheek,  for  his  heart  gave  the  lie  to  his  lips. 

Ackoree  saw  that  her  poison  had  taken  effect,  and  assuming  an  air 
of  gentleness  and  composure,  she  laid  her  hand  upon  that  of  the 
chief,  and  replied,  softly, 

"  Tecumseh  is  wary  and  powerful.  Would  the  chief  rush  unarmed 
into  the  very  jaws  of  the  pantherl  Would  he  seek  the  den  while 
the  dam  is  fey  to  guard  it  1  Surely,  it  were  better  to  wait  till  she  is 
out  in  quest  of  prey." 

Kumshaka  caught  at  the  idea  with  avidity ;  for,  vain  and  impul 
sive,  he  readily  adopted  the  suggestions  of  others,  thereby  saving  him 
self  the  labor  of  investigation.  He  looked  admiringly  upon  the  vin 
dictive  girl,  and  the  activity  of  the  like  passions  operated  as  a  bond 
of  sympathy  between  them.  Taking  her  passive  hand  in  his,  he 
replied, 

"  Thou  art  most  beautiful,  Ackoree,  and  wisely  hast  thou  coun 
selled.  Tecumseh  will  depart  to  assemble  the  great  council,  and 
then  shall  be  the  time  to  act.  If  the  white  girl  becomes  his  bride, 
the  scalps  of  her  people  shall  line  the  entrance  to  her  wigwam." 

Ackoree  withdrew  her  hand.  "Kumshaka  follows  a  shadow. 
He  is  in  pursuit  of  the  bow  that  rest  upon  the  tops  of  the  trees,  but 
vanishes  as  he  draws  near." 


"I  will  follow  it  no  more.  The  Swaying  Reed  is  as  nothing  to 
me,  except  as  she  can  feel  my  vengeance.  But  tell  me,  Ackoree, 
low  do  you  know  of  their  love  1" 

"  We  stood  together  when  your  party  returned  to  the  village.  Te- 
•umseh  was  not  with  you.  I  looked  into  the  face  of  the  white  girl, 
and  she  knew  it  not.  The  heart  cf  the  while  girl  could  be  read  upon 
her  cheek,  for  the  blood  went  and  camp,  and  her  eye  wandered  from 
:hief  to  chief,  and  then  was  fixed  long  upon  the  woods,  to  see  if  he 
:ame  from  thence.  '  Tecumseh  has  not  returned,'  1  said.  She  tried 
:o  smile,  to  speak,  but  my  eye  was  upon  her,  and  she  felt  that  I  knew 
all.  She  turned  away  and  was  silent." 

She  had  scarcely  finished  her  recital,  when  a  harsh  voice  was  heard 
'o  utter  her  name  several  times  in  a  peevish  accent,  and  Ackore«, 
obedient  to  the  summons,  gathered  up  the  net  and  hastened  away. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

Oh,  long  shall  I  think  of  those  silver  bright  lakes, 

And  the  scenes  they  revealed  to  my  view, 
My  friends,  and  the  wishes  I  formed  for  their  sakei, 
And  my  bright  yellow  birchen  canoe.— H.  R.  StHOOLCBirr. 

THE  morning  after  the  arrival  of  Alice,  Margaret  arose  lightly 
"rom  her  slumbers,  while  the  sun  was  as  yet  invisible  above  the  ho- 
risoa.  Minaree  was  already  abroad,  and  there  was  no  one  to  observe 
motions  which  she  might  otherwise  have  concealed.  She  remained 
'ong,  stooping  over  the  form  of  her  sleeping  sister,  as  if  analyzing 
every  feature,  to  see  how  well  it  harmonized  with  the  recollections  of 
her  childhood.  As  she  continued  to  gaze,  her  bosom  heaved  with 
sighs,  and  tears  stole  from  beneath  her  lids.  Memories  almost  oblit 
erated  awoke  to  new  life,  and  she  lived  once  more,  in  the  midst  of 
love  and  happiness  in  that  sweet  home  away  in  the  deep  woods. 
The  voices  of  childhood  came  to  her  ear,  and  she  heard  again  the 
language  of  prayer.  Clasping  her  hands,  the  sacred  duty  sprung  to 
her  lips.  It  was  a  lovely  sight  to  behold  that  proud  and  beautifnl 
girl,  in  her  strange  wild  dress,  bowing  in  lowly  devotion  over  the 
form  of  her  sleeping  sister,  whosj  presence  had  awakened  all  the 
gentle  harmonies  of  her  nature. 

An  unwonted  softness  stole  over  her  manner,  displacing  a  portion 
of  that  coldness  and  pride  which  had  won  for  her  not  less  the  admi 
ration,  than  the  reverence  of  the  rude  people  in  whose  midst  she  had 
been  thrown.  She  took  the  garments  of  her  sister,  and  examined 
their,  to  her,  singular  construction  ;  for  though  she  had  never  entirely 
forgotten  the  costume  of  her  earlier  days,  and  had  in  some  measure 
adapted  her  own  garments  to  it,  yet  the  recollection  had  become 
dim  and  indistinct.  She  placed  her  small  foot  within  the  Clipper, 
and  walked  back  and  forth,  evidently  pleased  with  the  symmetry 
it  helped  te  reveal.  Alice  turned  in  her  departing  slumber*, 
and  Margaret  restored  the  garments  to  their  former  position,  and 
seated  herself  to  comb  and  brush  her  abundant  hair,  using  for  the 
former  purpose  bones  of  the  fish,  skilfully  inserted  in  a  piece  of  wood. 
The  brush  was  made  of  the  stiff  hairs  of  the  buffdlo,  richly  wrought 
with  the  quills  of  the  porcupine. 

Alice  opened  her  eyes,  and  spread  out  her  arms  to  embrace  her,  bu  t 
Margaret  only  indicated  her  consciousness  of  the  motion  by  a  smile, 
as  she  continued  her  occupation.  Minaree  soon  entered  with  fish,  for 
their  morning  repast,  which  she  proceeded  to  roast  between  two  flat 
stones  covered  with  coals.  Alice  herself  prepared  a  cake  to  be  baked 
in  a  similar  manner.  Margaret  brought  in  fruits,  and  a  vessel  of  water, 
and  another  containing  a  beverage  prepared  from  the  sap  ef  ihe  maple. 
The  breakfast  was  spread  upon  a  rude  low  table,  at  which  the  two  sis 
ters  w«re  seated,  while  Minaree  chose  to  take  her'sin  her  lap,  not  pre 
cisely  in  the  manner  in  which  ladies  take  their  tea  when  'carried 
round,' as  it  is  called,  but  bearing  a  strong  analogy  thereto;  thus  show 
ing  in  these  two  opposite  situations  in  life,  as  well  as  in  all  others, 
that  extremes  always  approximate.  Margaret  looked  timidly  in  the 
face  of  her  sister,  for  she  had  not  forgotten  the  usages  of  her  early 
[ife  ;  and  Alice  folded  her  hands,  closed  her  eyes,  and  in  a  low  voice 
pronounced  an  appropriate  grace. 

Alice  found  the  resources  cf  the  cabin  much  greater  than  she  had 
anticipated.  Margaret  had  instructed  Minaree  ia  many  things  un 
known  to  her  people,  and  the  good  woman,  being  naturally  of  a  pa 
tient  and  thrifty  turn,  had  busied  herself  cheerfully  ia  preserving 
nany  things  for  winter  use,  A-hich  could  only  have  been  suggested  by 
the  superior  resources  of  Margaret.  These  were  stores  of  grapes  dried 
carefully  in  the  sun,  bearing  no  mean  resemblance  to  imported  rai 
sins  ;  honty  fiom  the  wild  bee,  preserved  in  gourds,  covered  with 
thin  leaves  of  the  birch  bark  ;  sugar  frooi  the  sap  of  the  maple  tree, 
i  i  vessels  of  bark  ;  and  berries  of  different  kinds  made  into  sweet 
meats  ;  dried  fish  and  venison  ;  a  small  delicate  fish  of  the  trout  kind, 


22 


THE      NEW      WORLD 


THE  WESTERN- 


which  was  considered  a.  great  luxury.  It  was  first  prepared  by  im-  'woods,  and  her  freedom  and  nobleness  under  the  clear  sky,  and  by 
mersing  it  in  the  oil  of  the  bear,  while  fresh,  for  a  few  days,  aad  ef-  !  the  many  waters  of  the  red- man.  Tell  him  too,  that  Tecumseh  will 
terward  putting  them  away  in  gourds  sealed,  and  then  cased  in  clay  !<  watch  for  the  happiness  of  the  Swaying  Reed,  and  for  every  tear 
and  dried  in  the  sun.  In  this  way  they  were  excellent  for  a  great  | ,  that  falls  from  her  eye,  shall  answer  a  drop  from  his  heart.  If  her 
length  of  time,  improving  by  age.  There  were  also  pu!  x,  corn,  1 1  eye  grows  dim,  or  her  step  heavy,  Tecumseh  will  be  there  to  avenge 
and  wild  rice,  as  also  a  species  of  wild  wheat,  which  could  be  pea-  [her  wrong.  Tell  him  too,  that  the  Swaying  Reed  has  been  to  Te- 
verted,  by  means  of  pounding,,  and  afterward  grinding  between  flat  '•  \  cumseh  whit  the  shower  is  to  the  earth,  the  sun  to  the  blossom,  or 


stones,  into  excellent  cakes. 

A'ice  soon  helped  Margaret  to  improve  the  taste  as  well  as  the 
comforts  of  her  cabin,  by  the  manufacture  of  many  things  which  her 
superior  ingenuity  and  experience  suggested.  Henry  Mansfield,  asd 
even  the  young  men  of  the  tribe  were  ready  to  coc-struct  frames  for 
their  wicker-chairs,  and  helped  Minaree  not  a  little  in  making  a 
more  ambitious  tabJ.e  ;  for  so  winning  and  gentle  were  the  sisters, 
that  they  felt  a  new  pleasure  in  promoting  their  comfort,  perhaps  the 


the  bird  to  the  forest.  She  has  been  the  one  star  in  a  night  of  storms : 
that  when  she  is  gone,  the  light  will  "have  gone  out  upon  his  path." 

Margaret  trembled  violently. 

"  Tesumseh,  I  shall  never  return  to  my  psople.  I  will  live  and 
die  here.  I  would  that  Alice  had  never  heard  of  my  existence,  that 
she  might  be  spared  the  pain  of  this." 

Tecumseh  shook  his  head.  "  Nay,  nay,  the  white  maiden  will 
long  for  companionship.  She  will  be  like  the  bird  alone  in  its  nest, 


inai  tncy  icii  a  new  pleasure  m  [iruiiiuuug  men  cuimun,  jjciiiajjs  u»| 

more,  that  many  articles  afterward  found  their  way  to  their  own  ca-l  aad  she  wil1  Jistea  to  lhe  melody  of  love..    She  would  spurn  the  red 
bins;  to  say  nothing  of  the  nice  cakes  furnished  for  the  breakfast  of!  man>  for  h«  cannot  woo  her  as  would  one  of  her   own  people,  oa 
some  young  warrior,  prepared  by  their  own  hands,  and  borne  by  the  |  j  bended  knee,  and  with  honied^words  ;"  and  as  jie  spoke  his  voice 
faithful  Minaree.      The  good  woman  was  slow  to   adopt  improve 
ments  for  herself,  b'vt  gratified  in  everything  that  imparted  pleasure 


to  her  foster-child  ;  and  when,  after  many  days  of  labor,  she  beheld 
one  side  of  her  cabin  covered  with  a  rush  mat,  and  chairs  aad  a  ta- '' 


was  low,  and  his  eyes  mournfully  fixed  upon  her  face. 

Margaret  blushed  deeply,  and  she  raised  her  speaking  eyes  up 
ward.  Tecumseh  sprang  forward  with  a  wild  expression  of  pleasure 
He  took  her  trembling  hand  in  his,  and  bent  his  expressive  eyes  to 


ble,  on  which  lay  ilia  Bible  of  Alic1,  and  a  rude  chest  with  ribes,  ||  those  of  the  fair  white  girl,  and  fora  moment  seemed  to  abandon 
belts,  and  moccasons,  carefully  disposed,  her  joy  knew  no  bounds,  n  himself  to  a  new  and  unexpected  source  of  happiness.  Recollecting 
She  saw  Margaret  open  and  close  the  lid,  seat  herself  upon  the  chairs,  himself  he  went  on — 

survey  herself  in  the  small  glas?,  re-arrange  the  combs  and  brushes,  I  «  NO,  no  :  Tecumseh  will  not  be  the  one  to  bring  a  shadow  upon 
walk  across  the  mat,  and  then  look  full  of  smiles  into  the  face  of!|the  brow  of  the  white  maiden.  The  bird  will  long  for  the  sound  of 
Alice.  1 1  its  own  waods,  for  the  rocking  of  the  tree  on  which  its  nest  was  first 

Suddenly  she  ceased  the  little  pantomime,  and  her  face  grew .  |  built.  Tecumseh  will  not  take  the  blossom  from  its  home  in  the 
sad;  a  heavy  sigh  escaped  her,  and  she  stood  pale  and  motionless.  '  pleasant  sunshine,  to  see  it  wither  alone  in  his  own  cabin.  Evil  as 
Alice  would  have  embraced  her,  but  she  repelled  her  approach,  and;  comin;;  upon  Tecumseh,  the  blackbird  is  always  above  his  head, 
akiag  down  her  bow  and  quiver,  hastened  from  the  cabin.  Alice  j  i  and  as  he  came  to  the  village,  he  found  the  massasauga  dead  in  his 
©Hewed  her  proud  and  graceful  figure,  as  with  light  and  bounding  .j  pathway.  Sorrow  is  falling  upon  him,  for  the  spirit-bird  sang  all 
steps  she  disappeared  in  the  dim  woods,  and  covering  her  face  with  1 1  night  upon  his  roof."  He  pressed  the  hand  of  Margaret  to  his 
her  hands,  burst  into  tears.  AI'l  the  little  comforts  of  civilized  life,  1 1  heart,  and  left  the  bower. 


which  she  had  endeavored  to  bring  about  her  sister,  thereby  to 
awaken  a  desire  for  them,  and  to  lure  her  imperceptibly  back  to  her 
old  associations  and  pleasu-res,  she  felt  had  served  as  a  momentary 


Margaret  remained  in  the  attitude  in  which  he  had  left  her,  long 
after  he  had  disappeared  ;  she  gave  utterance  to  no  wild  burst  of  an 
guish,  she  did  not  eveu  weep :  a  heavy  sense  of  misery  weighed 


gratification,  exciting  wonder  rather  than  affection  ;  and  she  felt  she  '  I  Up0n  her  ;  a  cold  pressure  lay  upon  her  young  heart,  as  if  hope  had 
was  still  wedded  to  her  wild  life.  Other  suspicions,  too,  were  gain-  suddenly  and  almost  undefinedly  taken  its  departure.  One  by  one 
ing  strength  upon  her  mind,  and  her  own  loneliness  weighed  heavily  j  j  she  disengaged  the  tangled  threads  of  thought,  and  there  came  the 

j  image  of  Aljpe,  with  her  eyes  fixed  in  displeasure,  almost  in  abhor- 

Scarcely  had  the  sisters  one  morning  completed  their  repast,  when  ;,rence  upon  her,  and  then  there  was  the  noble  chief,  with  his  eyes 
Tecumseh,  accompanied  by  Henry  Mansfield,  entered  the  lodge.  1  1  telling  S3  much  of  love,  and  deep  and  abiding  sorrow.  She  heard 
Alice  gave  her  hand  to  the  chief  with  an  open  smile  of  pleasure,  and,!^^  and  footsteps  approaching,  and  elevating  her  figure  to  Its  full 
Margaret  coldly  laid  her's  in  that  of  Mansfield.  Both  blushed  deeply  ,  .  height,  she  went  out  to  meet  Alice  and  Henry  Mansfield  with  a  man- 
and  seemed  embarrassed.  Tecumseh's  stay  was  stort,  for  he  was|!ner  from  which  all  emotion  had  disappeared.  Still  she  was  not  at 


about  to  start  upon  his  journey  for  the  purpose  of  assembling  the  old; 
men  of  the  different  tribes,  and  his  time  was  precious.  Turning  to: 
the  aster's  he  said  in  a  voice,  tremulou?,  and  deep,  "  When  Tecum- 


ease  in  their  presence.  She  felt  the  pressure  of  manners  and  asso. 
ciations  to  which  she  had  been  unaccustomed,  and  they  affected  her 
with  a  painful  sense  of  inferiority.  Margaret  drew  heiself  proudly 


seh  return?,  the  white  maidens  will  be  away,  with  their  own  people;  I  up>  and  rfctreated  within  herself,  holding  communion  with  the  wild 
but  let  them  not  forget  that  the  poor  Indiin  spread  his  mat  to  shelter  'romance   awakened  by  wood  and  water,  and  the  depths  of  the  blue 

had 


them,  and  brought  his    game   to  give  them  life.     Tecumseh 
broken  bread  with  the  white  man,  and  he  could  never  forget  it.' 
Margaret's  cheek  was  very  pale.     Alice  arose  earnestly,  the  tears 


gathering  in  her  eyes,  and  taking  the  hand  of  the  chief  in  both  of 
hers,  she  replied — 


sky.  They  had  seated  themselves  upon  the  bank  of  the  river  and 
all  were  silent,  as  if  the  beauty  and  quiet  in  which  they  reposed  had 
closed  even  the  avenues  of  speech. 


It  was  a  sight  rare  and  picturesque  in  that  sequestered  spot,  to  see 
those  twe  sisters,  each  in  her  distinctive  loveliness,  seated  side  by 
never  forget   your  generosity,  and  with  us,  Te-    gMe,  vainly  essaying,  as  it  were,  to  join  once  more  the  links  of  mu 


eu  iseh  will  be  the  name  for  all  that  is  noble,  and  excellent.  We 
wi  '  pray  always  that  the  Great  Spirit  may  bless  you,  and  reward 
yo  for  all  that  you  have  done  for  Margaret." 

Tecumseh  bent  his  head,  and  the  plumes  of  his  helmet  concealed    e 
MB  "ace.     When  he  turned  to  take  his  leave  of  Margaret,  she  had  left 
the    abin.     Leaving  Alice,  he  bent  his  steps  to  the  arbor  of  vines  on 
ihs  bank  of  the  river. 


tual  sympathy  and  lo.e  which  had  been  so  cruelly  dissevered. 

The  face  of  Alice  was  pale,  yet  composed  in  its  sweet  sad  expres 
sion,  and  a  tear  seemed  trembling  beneath  the  lid  of  the  clear  blue 
Margaret's  cheek   was  flushed,   and  her  brow,  higher  and 
broader  than  that  of  her  sister,  was  thrown  backward,  and  the  short 
upper  lip  curled  with  an  expression  of  discontent,  if  not   of  scorn. 

Margaret  had  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  lay  prostrate  u-  i  ?"  ?"?'  deep-SSt;f '  w.hh  its  loa(f  c"rv'ed  Ia,sh>  was  moving  impa- 
the  leaves  of  the  floor,  while  low  sobs  burst  from  her  Hps  ?ecam-M  i  7  fCm.°bjeCt  <°,  °bje?'  a9,lf  She  felt  *eady  the  t"™neb  of 
seh  raiBed  her  from  the  ground,  and  remained  silently  and  sadly  r™  '  ^  fT'"' ,  l°"g  '?  7T  ™n  *  «  I  ?  ** 

gardingh.r.  Had  he  spoken-Margaret  might  have  wept  on   for  her  ^  7°°d'  1°       7     T*        'T^T  *  ^  ^V?"'  ^°' 

heart  was  now  open  for  the  reception  of  sympathy  and  unwon    1 !     r°m    ^  ™™*r       AllCe' that  "^  ^  bCC°me  ™  0bjeCt 

*mr.t-  __  _  „   i  M  t  of  gentle  compassion  to  her,  and  she  revolted  from  the  .position 

CIHUL1OU3  were  surnng  in   nsr  DOsoni  :  out  his  silenr*"  sprvpH  tr\  rail  '  i-m          i        r          .1- 

1    When,  therefore,  Alice   gently  smoothed  her   clear    brow,  sighing 

grass,  and  turned  half  angrily  away ;  for  she  could  not  understand 
how  the  knowledge  of  so  much  that  to  her  appeared  useless,  and 
even  enfeebling  to  the  human  charac'er,  should  stamp  upon  its  pos 
sessor  the  rights  of  superiority. 
What  were   the  studied  conventionalisms  of  society  to  the  free- 


her  brow,  and  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  as  if  her's  were  a  nature  to 
•which  weakness,  and  the  melting  mood  of  womanhood  were  un-' 
known. 

Te^umseh's  eye  kindled  with  admiration    "Tell  the  white  man,"  i 
he  said,;  "  that  the  Swaying  Reed  "e  .rned  her  pride  in  the   wild 


CAPTIVE. 


THE     NEW     WORLD. 


Margaret  withdrew  her  hand    and  emiled   scornfully,  but 


silent. 


"  Tell  me,  dvar  Margaret,  will  you  not  go  with  us  1 " 

"To  sit  all  day  in  the  hous»,  and  do  useless  work,  and   read 

-       that  jmean  nothiag,"  said  Margaret,  wiih  flushed  -cheek  • 


word 

"  never — never ! " 


dom,  and  grace,  and  native  buoyancy  of  the  wild  dweller  of  the 
woods  1  And  what  were  the  artificial  words  of  those,  who  year 
fey  year  filled  their  brains  with  the  ideas  of  others,  making  it  as  it 
were  only  the  receptacle  of  other  men's  thoughts,  to  the  untutored 
outpourings  of  those  who  spake  or?Jy  as  the  spirit  gave  them  utter 
ance  7  Who  learned  their  vocabulary  from  the  spontaneous  opera 
tions  of  their  own  unshackled  minds;  and  the  teachings  to  be  learned  I  "  But  Margaret,  you  will  learn  wh 
in  the  great  school  of  nature,  the  language  of  the  midnight  stars,!  thought  befow  us, 'and  thlre w" 1 ^leaUe  i/that  "  *  ' 

e  ch.ming  of  many  waters,  the  swaying  of  the  oldj  wood,  and|      Margaret  shook  her  head.     "  They  were  creatures  like  ourselvee 
the  hoary  grandeur  of  the  everlasting  hills !    What  was  the  blind  j  i  with  like  thoughts  and  feelings,  and  how  shall  we  delight  to    ead 
devotee  to  human  creeds,  to  him  who,  bowing  in  the  freedom  and  j  their  words  1    No,  Alice,  it  is  folly  ;  let  us  be  free  here  in  this  great 
us  own  nature,  worshiped  in  the  singleness  of  his  heart,  '  wilderness,  and  rejoice  in  the  beauty  around  u?  but  let  us  not  be 
.t  and  invisible  Spirit,  whose  presence  he  felt  diffused  upon ; ;  chained  down  by  the  opinions  of  others.     I  cannot  go  with  you  to 

your  poor  life  ;  stay  with  me,  and  we  can  be  happy.'  ~ 


every  side  ol'  him  1 

Marg?.ret  failed  to  perceive  the  right  of  the  civilized  to  arrogate 
aught  of  superiorly,  and  the  gentle  melancholy  of  Alice  served  only  to 
attach  her  the  more  strongly  to  the  freedom  of  savage  life.  She  re-j 


Alice  felt  that  the  eyes  of  Mansfield  were  upon  her,  and  she 
blushed  deeply.  Why  should  she  not  stay  here  in  the  populous  and 
beautiful  solitudes  of  nature,  away  from  the  restraints  and  arbitrary 


turned  to  the  cabin,  and  shortly  after  made  her  appearance  with  aj|'usages  of  society,  and  live  with  Margaret  in  the  innocence  and  free- 
pair  of  paddles,  followed  by  -old  Minaree  bearing  the  canoe.  They  ,dom  of  their  own  thoughts,  with  the  simple  children  of  nature  1  She 
descended  the  bank,  and  launched  it  upon  the  river,  Minaree  hold-  i  hesitated  to  reply. 

ing  it  by  the  stern  till  all  was  ready.  Margaret  beckoned  for  Alice  |  j  "  No>  Margaret,  we  all  desire  improvement  ;  it  were  but  selfishness 
to  accompany  her  ,  and  she  timidly  prepared  to  follow.  Margaret's,!  i  to  "main  here,  away  from  duty,  and  from  human  ties"—  she  blushed 
eyes  danced  with  delight,  and  she  struck  the  paddles  lightly  upon  i  and  stcvped,  for  she  had  uttered  what  sh?  would  fain  recall  ;  but 
the  waters,  as  if  to  say,  «  she  cannot  do  this,"  and  her  pride  became  !  she  went  on—  "from  the  ties  that  bind  us  to  our  creatures  ;  should  we 
reconciled.  ;  rem-iin  here,  w  .  should  die  neither  wiser  nor  better  than  we  are  now, 

"  Shall  I  come,  too  7"  said  Mansfield,  still  holding  the  hand  of  j  and  that  must  not  be-" 

Alice,  who  was  really  terrified  as  she  seated  herself  in  the  bottom  '  \  "  And  we  should  be  no  worse,  Alice  ;  nor  can  I  see  why  we  can- 
of  the  canoe,  and  felt  the  ripple  of  the  water  beneath  the  thin  birch  |iaot  do  Sood  to  the  Indian  as  well  as  the  white  man:"  and  she  tapped 

Margaret  assented,  and  he  took  one  of  the  paddles  to  assist  in  pro-  j  !  with  an  arrow   impatiently  upon  the  f-ma.ll  moccason  that  covered 
pelling  it  over  the  waters.     Light  as  the  fairy  nautilus  it  sped  dong  ,  her  foot; 

"  Think  of  our  mother,  Margaret,  how  it  would  have  grieved  her 
'°  think  °fy°"r  living  here  in  the  midst  of  savages." 
Margaret's  cheek  reddened  with  an  angry  flush. 


"Say  no  more,  Alice.     I  cannot  go.     I  am  resolved.     You  but 


the  river,  and  Margaret's  long  slender  fingers  lay  upon  the  paddle, 
as  she  threw  aside  the  bright  waters  that  flashed  and  fell  like  a 
shower  of  diamonds  at  every  motion  of  the  oar.  Her  joyous  laugh 
rang  out  upon  the  woods  that  overhung  the  river,  as  she  gayly  chal 
lenged  the  speed  of  her  companion,  and  even  Alice  grew  fearless,  • ; cal1  me  back  to  misery,  the  more  intolerable  that  many  eyes  behold 
as  she  observed  the  ease  and  security  of  her  companions.  They!  it-  You  awaken  recollections  too  painful.  Think  you,  when  tears 
had  left  the  village  long  behind  them,  and  the  river  which  had  beenl|are  uPon  m/  cheek,  and  sorrow  at  my  heart,  keown  only  to  the 
growing  narrower  now  suddenly  turned,  leaving  in  the  centre  a  I  Great  Spirit,  that  I  could  brook  strange  eyes  to  look  upon  me,  and 
small  island,  covered  with  low  trees  down  to  the  dip  of  the  water;  'as^.  what  is  the  matter  7  The  Indian  will  sit  all  day  by  the  side, 
separated  from  the  main  on  one  side  by  a  narrow  channel,  over  the  j  j and  utter  nothing,  when  grief  is  at  the  heart  of  his  friend.  He  weeps, 
rocky  bed  of  which  flowed  a  stream  of  water  like  a  thread  of  silver] Iand  is  silent ;  but  the  white  man  will  talk,  talk  with  a  cold  unfeeling 
dropped  in  the  sunshine;  on  the  other,  the  channel  was  broad  and  | heart,  and  dry  eye.  I  want  no  words.  I  must  be  alone.  Our  mo- 
still,  moving  gracefully  around  the  fairy  isle,  making  a  diminutive  |  j  'her,  oh,  I  have  seen  her  weep,  weep  in  the  bitterness  of  sorrow,  and 
basin,  deeply  shadowed  by  the  surrounding  woods.  '7et  she  was  gentle  and  loving  like  you,  Alice,  and  can  I  hope  for 

The y  were  still  under  the  lea  of  the  little  isle,  and  about  to  emerge  i  i  Sreatcr  happiness  7    No,  no  :  the  world  is  full  of  tears,  I  will  shed 


them  here.  What  matters  it,  that  the  grave  is  made  with  many 
prayers,  or  dug  in  the  wild  woods;  the  spirit  returns  to  Him  who 
gave  it,  and  life  and  weeping  are  at  an  end." 

She  spoke  in  a  tone  of  deep  feeling,  and  Alice  felt  that  Margarei 
was  the  victim  of  sorrow  deeper  than  the  loss  of  friende,  or  the  se 
paration  from  society.  She  followed  the  haughty  girl  in  silence  to 

slumbering  echoes.  The  shaft  [leapt  "from  the  bow,  and  bounding  the  canoe»  and  when  Mansfield  whispered,  as  he  seated  her  therein, 
forward  the  animal  sprang  into  the  river,  dyeing  it  with  its  blood.  A '  "  Alice>  there  are  Emiles  as  wel1  as  tears  in  Ufe>  sunshine,  or  there 
faint  scream  escaped  the  lips  of  Alice,  and  she  looked  almost  with,icould  be  no  shadow,"  ehe  smiled  through  her  tears,  and  felt  that 
horror  upon  Margaret,  as  she  sat  with  her  lips  slightly  compressed, '  there  must  be  much  in  life  ftfr  which  we  would  wish  to  live  >  that 
a  gratified  emile  playing  about  the  mouth,  and  calmly  watching  the  suffe"ngbut  gives  a  zest  to  enjoyment,  and  that  many  of  our  purest 


once  more  upoa  the  open  river,  when  Margaret  laid  down  her  pad 
dle  and  motioned  her  companions  to  silence.  Mansfield  smiled  as 
he  observed  her  fix  an  f.rrow  to  her  bow,  and  following  the  direction 
of  her  aim,  beheld  far  up  the  stream  a  deer  that  had  come  down  to 
drink,  standing  in  a  startled  attitude,  with  foot  lifted,  and  head 
turned  upon  one  side,  listening  if  aught  had  indeed  disturbed  the 


struggles  of  the  expiring  animal.  In  the  agony  of  its  sufferings  it 
had  swam  quite  across  the  river,  and  with  drooping  antlers  it  at 
tempted  to  ascend  the  opposite  bank,  but  its  strength  failed  —  it  stag 
gered  forward  and  fell  to  the  earth,  quaffing  the  waters  that  laved 
its  distended  nostril. 

"  Nobly  done  :"texclaimed  Mansfield,  as  the  daring  girl  dashed  the 
water  aside  to  near  her  victim.  £-.;    tf&y 


Pleasuree  are  bl»  the  results  of  previous  suffering. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
But  on  the  sacred,  solemn  day, 

And,  dearest,  on  thy  bended  knee, 
When  thou  for  those  thou  lovest  dost 

Sweet  spirit,  then  remember  me.— K.  EIBRLTT. 


Alice  covered  her  eyes  with  both  hands,  as  they  neared  the  dying  THE  first  Sabbath  spent  by  Alice  in  the  Indian  village  was  clear 
animal,  where  it  lay  staining  the  green  bank  with  its  blood,  giving  ;and  mild,  the  morning  sun  shone  »p*n  the  grass  heavy  with  dew,  and 
utterance  to  faint  sobs,  and  its  full  eyes  expressive  cf  its  patience  the  damp  leaves  of  the  trees  glittered  with  a  thousand  beautiful  hues, 
and  its  agony.  "Oh,  it  was  cruelly,  most  cruelly  done.  Dear,  for  the  breath  of  autumn  had  passed  over  them  changing  their  color, 
dear  Margaret,  say  you  will  never  kill  another !"  '  but  as  yet  few  were  displaced.  The  distant  hills,  and  slopes  of 

Margaret  looked  displeased  and  disappointed,  and  ehe  turned  al-    the  river,  looked  as  if  some  gorgeous  drapery  had  been  drawn  over 
most  contemptuously  away,  and  sprang  from  the  canoe  to  the  bank.1  the  rich  earth.     The  shrill  voice  of  the  locust  came  . 
Carelessly   disengaging  the  arrow  from  its  side,  the  animal  gave  a  \clustsring  foliage,  and  the  cricket's  sharp  and  cheerful  notes  lingered 
faint  spring,  raised  itself  upon  one  lira1),  quivered  convulsively,  and    long  upem  the  ear.     A  group  of  hunter's  were  out  on  the  banks 
was  dead  '• tbe  "ver  ready  f°r  na  excursion  toward  the  lakes,  and  the  merry 

"Oh,  Margaret,  you  must  leave  this  wild  life,  and  go  with  me,  'voices  of  children  at  their  sports  in  the  village  area,  told  that  all 
and  become  gentle  and  womanly;  you  will  learn  to  sit  quietly  in  ih«;  days  were  alike  to  these  dwellers  cf  nature. 

house  and  read  and  sew,  and  we  shall  be  so  happy,  shall  we  nut,;.     Alice  took  her  Bible  from  the  table,  and  drawing  Margaret  to  her 
dear  Margaret  7  "  said  Alice,  drawing  her  hand  within  her  owr7        i  I  side,  commenced  reading  the  sublime  truths  of  the  Saviour  contained 


24 


THE    NEW    WORLD. 


THE  WESTERN 


in  the  sermon  on  the  mount.  Margaret  responded  to  every  word  in  ; 
a  low  voice,  her  eyes  closed,  and  her  head  leaning  on  the  shoulder  i 
of  Alice.  As  the  reading  went  on,  a  tear  fell  upon  the  sacred  page.  \ 

Alice  looked  up,  and  kissed  the  cheek  of  her  sister.  "  Margaret, 
I  had  not  thought  you  would  remember  all  this." 

"  Oh,  Alice,  how  often  we  have  repeated  them  in  childhood  at  the 
knee  of  our  mother ;  and  since  I  have  been  here  in  the  woods,  they 
have  been  fresh  in  my  memory,  and  I  have  acted  from  them." 

"And  yet,"  said  Alice,  "  you  have  forgotten  much,  very  much  of 
our  religion." 

Margaret  dried  her  eyes.  "  I  remember  all  that  is  of  value  to  us 
The  desire  to  do  what  is  right,  the  love  of  God,  and  the  hope  of  a 
better  life.  Alice,  dont  perplex  me  with  what  I  cannot  understand. 
The  holy  Saviour,  who  taught  as  never  man  taught,  I  remember  went 
out  into  the  desert  to  pray,  and  loved  the  woods  and  mountains,  and 
surely  we  may  worship  the  Great  Spirit  acceptably  here." 

"  Yes,  Margaret,  but  the  Saviour  returned  again  to  the  dwellings  of 
men,  to  soothe  the  afflicted,  and  to  strengthen  the  tempted.  John, 
who  came  to  prepare  the  way  for  him  abode  in  the  desert,  but  the 
holy  Saviour  fled  not  from  the  trials  or  dangers  of  life." 

"  Say  no  more,"  cried  Margaret,  "  I  know  you  mean  that  I  am 
fleeing  from  the  duties  of  life  while  here ;  but  you  forget  that  the 
Indian  is  the  Work  of  God  like  ourselves,  and  has  claims  upon  us." 
She  arose  from  her  seat,  and  taking  down  her  bow,  was  about  to 
leave  the  cabin. 

"  Oh,  Margaret,  do  not,  I  beseech  you,  dessecrate  the  Sabbath 
while  I  am  here.  Let  us  spend  9ne  day,  at  least,  as  we  did  in  child- 
hoed — it  may  be  the  last  we  shall  be  together  on  earth." 

Margaret  was  softened,  and  she  seated  herself  again  by  the  side  of 
Alice,  and  listened  to  her  sweet  voice  with  a  smile  of  happiness. 
Even  Minaree  closed  her  eyes  where  she  sat  upon  her  mats,  and 
seemed" gratified  at  the  low  murmuring  cadences.  When  the  reading 
ceased,  the  two  sisters  were  for  a  while  silent ;  and  at  length  Mar-! 
garet  said — 

"  Alice,  why  should  you  not  stay  here  with  me,  and  why  should  | 
not  this  be  our  home  ?"   Alice  did  not  reply,  and  she  sunk  her  voice 
to  a  whisper,  and  went  on  :  "  You  would  stay,  Alice,  I  am  sure  you 
would,  but  for  this  white  youth."     Margaret  did  not  raise  her  head 
from  the  shoulder  of  Alice  to  look  in  her  face,  but  she  felt  her  breath 
was  short  and  quick,  and  she  knew  the  blush  was  upon  her  cheek,  i 
Twice  Alice  attempted  to  speak  to  deny  the  charge  even,  but  the  | 
words  would  not  come  to  her  lips,  and  she  at  length  turned  to  Mar 
garet  and  said — 

"  Margaret,  I  dread  to  think  there  may  be  some  secret  cause  that 
detains  you  here  in  the  woods,  away  from  our  people  and  the  true 
worship  of  God.  Speak,  dear  Margaret,  tell  me  that  it  is  not  so, ' 
that  you  do  not  love — Tecumseh,"  she  said  slowly. 

Margaret  started  from  the  shoulder  of  Alice,  as  if  an  arrow  had  < 
entered  her  breast;  her  cheek  and  neck  were  crimson,  and  her  eyes 
flashed  beneath  their  long  black  lashes.  She  looked  one  instant  in 
the  face  of  Alice,  and  then  left  the  cabin.  The  skin  that  concealed  ! 
the  entrance  had  hardly  ceased  its  vibration,  when  it  was  raised 
again,  and  Margaret  looked  in,  and  sternly  fixed  her  eyes  upon! 
her  sister. 

'•Tell  me,  Alice,  that  you  will  never,  never  name  that  again,  or  j 
•we  part  for  ever.  Promise  me  ;"  she  repeated,  observing  that  Alice 
hesitated  to  speak. 

Alice  kn?w  that  her  suspicions  were  verified — that  Margaret  must 
henceforth  be  as  a  stranger  to  her,  and  the  tears  gathered  in  her  j 
1'iiM  eyes,  and  she  siiid  faintly,  "  I  promise,  dear  Margaret." 

Margaret  again  dropped  the  skin,  and  Alice  buried  her  face  in  her 
kdnJs  and  wept  long  and  bitterly.  The  fond  hopes  she  had  cher 
ished  in  the  reunion  and  affections  of  her  sister  were  at  once  dark 
ened — a  shadow  lay  upon  her  brightest  anticipations.  The  sister! 
whose  memory  she  had  so  long  cherished,  turned  coldly  from  her 
proffered  love,  and  in  the  panoply  of  her  pride  repelled  all  tender 
ness  or  familiarity.  And  yet  Alice  felt  she  could  not  have  listened 
to  the  tale  of  such  an  attachment ;  her  nature  would  have  revolted  to ' 
hear  one  thus  nearly  allied  to  herself,  disclose  a  love  for  one  of  a 
race  so  different  from  their  own,  and  whom  she  had  been  taught  to ! 
regard  with  abhorrence. 

Weeks  passed  away,  and  the  gay  drapery  of  the  woods  faded  ' 
from  the  trees?,  the  yellow  leaf  lay  gathered  in  heaps  by  the  side  of i 
the  hillocks,  or  borne  along  on  the  eddying  winds  rustled  in  melan- : 
choly  music.  The  grass  became  dry  and  crisped  in  the  early  frost,  i 
and  the  shrill  autumnal  winds  sounded  through  the  naked  trees.  In 
the  early  light  of  morning,  it  was  a  fair  sight  to  behold  the  gray 


limbs  of  the  frees  penciled  against  the  red  sky,  and  the  fields  from 
which  the  harvest  had  been  gathered,  showing  myriads  of  tiny 
spears  made  by  the  frost,  as  the  loose  soil  crumbled  with  moisture. 
Often  and  strongly  had  Mansfield  urged  the  departure  of  the  sisters, 
but  nothing  could  shake  the  determination  of  Margaret  to  remain 
with  her  adopted  people.  Alice  used  argument  and  persuasions  of 
every  kind,  but  she  was  alike  inflexible  to  every  appeal;  and  the 
youth  now  besought  Alice  to  return  to  her  home,  and  leave  Margaret 
to  the  course  of  life  which  she  had  chosen.  But  Alice  still  believed 
that  persuasion  and  perseverance  might  be  effective,  and  she  could 
not  abandon  her.  She  shrunk,  too,  with  maiden  delicacy,  from  a 
long  journey  through  the  wilderness  with  only  the  youth  to  protect 
her.  These  motives  weighing  upon  a  nature  naturally  sensitive  and 
timid,  finally  made  her  resolve  to  remain  through  the  winter  in  the 
Indian  village. 

Mansfield  had  already  staid  beyond  the  time  prescribed,  and  it 
was  now  necessary  that  he  should  take  his  departure.  He  besoughi 
Alice  to  return  with  him.  In  a  few  words  she  acquainted  him  with 
her  determination.  The  young  man  turned  pale  with  surprise  and 
anxiety. 

"  Let  me  implore  you,  Miss  Durand,  to  reflect  upon  what  you  may 
suffer.  The  precarious  nature  of  Indian  supplies,  the  hazards  from 
cold  and  sickness,  to  say  nothing  of  the  perils  from  their  caprice 
and  superstition." 

"But  remember,"  said  Alice,  with  a  smile,  "  my  sister  will  be 
exposed  to  all  these  in  case  I  leave  her  here." 

"Oh,  no:  she  will  be  safe,  she  is  accustomed  to  them — she  is  as 
one  of  them." 

"  Do  not  urge  me,"  said  Alice,  gently,  "  I  feel  that  I  cannot  leave 
Margaret.  All  that  she  may  be  called  to  encounter,  I  must  endure 
with  her.  Indeed,  I  apprehend  no  danger,  the  Indians  are  kindly 
disposed,  and  ready  to  promote  our  comfort." 

The  brow  of  the  youth  contracted,  and  he  brushed  back  the  thick 
curls  from  his  brow  with  an  air  of  irritation. 

"  Alice,  pardon  me,  but  I  cannot  leave  you  here — you  are  dearer 
to  me  than  life  itself,  and  I  cannot  endure  the  thoughts  of  this  cruel 
separation." 

Alice  trembled  violently,  and  her  cheek  turned  from  red  to  pale, 
but  she  did  not  speak  for  nearly  a  minute. 

"  She  is  my  sister,  most  tenderly  beloved,  and  she  must  not  be 
abandoned." 

Then  rising  from  her  seat,  she  profered  her  hand  unreservedly  to 
the  youth,  saying, 

"  Till  we  meet  again,  my  thoughts  and  prayers  are  yours;"  her 
voice  trembled,  and  as  she  raised  her  meek  eyes  upward,  a  tear 
was  upon  the  lids. 

Mansfield  drew  the  slight  form  to  his  bosom  and  imprinted  a  kiss 
upon  her  pure  brow,  with  a  reverence  and  love  th-it  had  little  o£ 
earthliness  in  it.  For  a  moment  Alice  yielded  to  the  embrace,  and 
then  responding  to  the  fervent  "  God  bless  you"  of  the  youth,  she 
disappeared  behind  the  screen  that  concealed  the  couch  of  herself 
and  Margaret.  For  one  brief  period  she  wished  her  resolve  might 
be  recalled,  that  she  might  return  to  the  kindliness  of  society,  and 
yield  her  thoughts  to  the  melody  of  love  ;  it  was  but  a  moment,  and 
she  sunk  upon  her  knees  blessing  that  Power  that  had  made  the 
voice  of  duty  strong  within  her,  and  removed  the  power  of  tempta 
tion  ere  her  strength  had  forsaken  her.  When  Margaret  entered 
she  greeted  her  gaily,  and  told  her  that  she  should  remain  with  her, 
and  learn  to  weave  baskets,  and  paddle  the  canoe,  and  plait  belts  of 
wampum.  In  return.  Margaret  promised  to  apply  herself  to  needk- 
work  and  reading,  and  be  like  a  white  girl  in  quietude. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Come  with  the  winter  snows,  and  ask 

Where  are  the  forest  birds  ; 
The  answer  is  a  silent  ono, 
More  eloquent  than  words. — HALLECK. 

As  the  the  winter  wore  away,  appearances  of  decided  hostility  on 
the  part  of  the  Indians  to  the  white  settlers  began  to  manifest  itself 
in  the  village.  Preparations  for  war  were  daily  made,  and  the  sub 
ject  discussed  openly,  and  in  council.  Their  numbers,  too,  were 
daily  augmenting,  and  the  Prophet,  unaided  by  Tecumseh,  found  it 
difficult  to  control  the  restless  and  fiery  spirits  assembled  aroanu  him. 
Added  to  this  their  iricrea?ing  numbers,  sometimes  induced  a  scar 
city  of  provisions,  compelling  parties  of  them  to  start  upon  expedi 
tions  for  relief,  aimed  too  frequently  against  the  defenceless  inhabi 
tants  of  the  frontier.  On  their  return  they  brought  with  them  horses.. 


CAPTIVE. 


THE    NEW     WORLD. 


cattle  and  garments  known  to  be  plundered  from  the  whites,  and 
more  than  once  Alice  turned  pale  at  beholding  a  white  scalp  depend 
ing  from  the  belt  of  some  lawless  young  chief. 

Every  day  increased  the  gloom  of  their  situation.  The  snow  lay 
for  masy  months  piled  heavily  upon  the  ground ;  the  wailing  sound 
of  the  wind  through  the  dry  branches  of  the  trees,  and  the  eddying 
gusts  about  the  frail  tenement  in  the  silence  and  gloom  of  midnight, 
sounded  like  the  shrieks  and  groans  of  the  suffering  and  dying.  Mar 
garet,  too,  grew  pale  and  restless ;  more  than  once  Alice  was  led  to 
suspect,  thdt  although  ostensibly  free,  she  was  always  an  object  of 
suspicion,  and  every  motion  subject  to  the  strictest  scrutiny ;  that, 
did  sh'e  desire  it,  escape  srom  the  village  would  be  impossible. 
Scarcely  ever  did  herself  and  Margaret  leave  their  dwelling  to  go 
out  into  the  woods,  or  upon  the  frozen  river,  without  encountering 
the  sable  looks  of  Kumshaka,  or  those  of  the  vindictive  Ackoree. 

It  was  a  long,  dreary"  season,  and  Alice,  timid  and  delicate,  found 
herself  now  dependant  upon  the  stronger-minded,  and  more  coura 
geous  Margaret,  not  only  for  comfort  in  their  trials,  but  often  for 
subjects  for  reflection.  Minaree,  too,  related  old  Indian  legends  and 
sang  their  wild  songs,  while  Margaret's  rich  aad  melodious  tones 
swelled  the  chorus.  Nor  were  her  sympathies  unemployed  in  this 
wild  and  savage  region.  She  entered  the  cabin  of  the  invalid  mo 
ther  and  assisted  to  relieve  her  sufferings.  When  want  and  sickness 
laid  the  child  upon  its  bed  of  death,  Alice  disposed  its  little  limbs, 
smoothed  down  the  long  dark  h-dr,  and  wept  as  she  listened  to 
the  thrilling  dirge  of  sorrow  raised  by  the  bereaved.  Had  Marga 
ret's  faith  and  religious  knowledge  been  equal  to  that  of  Alice,  she 
would,  in  a  like  situation,  have  been  the  ardent  and  self-sacrificing 
missionary,  kneeling  in  lowly  supplication  by  the  bed  of  death,  and 
pointing  to  the  Saviour  of  men  as  the  great  Comforter  of  the  afflicted. 
But  Alice  was  too  gentle  and  self-distrustful  for  this ;  she  was  made 
rather  to  be  cherished  tenderly  in  the  bosorn  ot  those  who  loved  her, 
then  to  be  the  supporter  or  strengthener  of  others.  Hers  was  a  na 
ture  lovely  aad  confxding,  whose  power  cauld  only  be  exhibited 
through  the  medium  of  her  affections;  one  of  those  that  the  haughti 
ness  of  manhood  is  led  to  adore  because  its  weakness  and  depend 
ence  is  flattering  to  his  self-love. 

Margaret,  in  the  course  of  her  intercourse  with  the  Indians,  had 
not  failed  to  impart  to  them  many  ideas  of  the  Deity  and  of  his  ever 
abiding  presence,  more  exalted  and  pure  than  those  of  their  imper 
fect  faith.  Naturally  enthusiastic,  delighting  in  the  abstract  and  spi 
ritual,  she  had  at  first  won  their  admiration,  and  even  awe  ;  by  her 
bold  and  eloquent  descriptions  of  the  attributes  of  Deity,  often 
couched  in  the  sublime  language  of  scripture,  which  still  adhered  to 
a  memory  tenacious  of  all  impressions,  most  especially  those  of  an 
elevated  and  impassioned  nature.  With  intuitive  tact  she  laid  hold 
of  the  one  great  truth  to  be  found  in  every  mind  however  rude,  that 
of  the  existence  of  a  God,  and  thence  strove  to  elevate  and  purify 
the  conception ;  to  impress  upon  the  mind  that  the  Creator  of  so 
much  that  is  good  and  beautiful  in  the  external  world,  must  be  a  be 
ing  to  delight  in  all  harmonies,  most  especially  in  those  of  truth  and  \ 
goodness.  Hence,  the  most  acceptable  worship  must  be  that  which  ; 
should  develope  in  the  human  character  qualities  assimilating  to ! 
himself. 

Having  acquired  from  her  father  some  knowledge  of  the  heavenly 
bodies,  she  was  wont  to  mingle  in  her  discourse  allusions  to  them 
and  to  the  objects  in  nature,  astounding  to  the  simple  people  she  ad 
dressed.  No  wonder  they  regarded  her  as  an  especial  favorite  of, 
the  Great  Spirit,  and  gave  her  credit  for  supernatural  wisdom.  From 
a  child  she  had  been  a  fearless,  investigating  girl,  delighting  in  soli-! 
tude  and  lonely  meditation  ;  and  the  great  shock  she  experienced  in  i 
the  death  of  her  family  instead  of  overwhelming  her,  its  magnitude 
served  rather  to  develope  the  native  strength  and  dignity  of  her  cha 
racter.  Cast  entirely  upon  her  own  resources,  understanding  as  by 
iastinct,  the  contempt  felt  by  her  captors  for  anything  like  weakness 
or  tears,  she  at  once  appeared  in  the  village,  not  a  timid,  weeping 
girl  like  others  of  her  race,  but  proud  and  solitary,  rejecting  aid, 
and  assuming  from  the  first  an  air  of  haughtiness  and  superiority. 
They  soon  took  a  pride  in  her  instruction,  and  absolved  her  at  once 
from  everything  like  labor  or  dependance. 

Tecumseh  delighted  to  initiate  her  in  all  the  accomplishments  of 
savage  life ;  the  choicest  spoils  of  the  chace  were  reserved  for  her 
cabin,  and  the  freshest  flowers  gathered  in  rugged  and  unfrequented 
paths.  In  return,  when  the  stars  of  night  were  out,  and  the  earth 
was  draped  in  green,  and  garnished  with  gems  of  blossoms,  he  would 
bend  his  head  to  the  lips  of  the  fair  girl,  and  listen  with  delight  while 
she  told  of  the  great  and  abiding  Presence,  who  doeth  all  things,  the 


^reat  and  beautiful  alike  ;  who  painteth  the  blossom  with  its  bea 
and  upheaveih  the  everlasting  hilla-who  rideth  upon  tin-  whirlwind 
and  dwelleth  with  the  midnight  stars.  In  the  wildnen  of  poetic  fer-  ' 
vor,  she  would  describe  the  planets  as  the  dwelling-place  of  the  wue 
and  the  good,  of  those  who  delight  in  mercy  and  did  generoua  deeds 
upon  earth.  She  dwelt  much  upon  the  blessings  of  peace,  of  the 
delight  of  the  Great  Spirit  in  those  who  strove  to  promote  it.  Even 
the  great  and  far-seeing  reformer  among  the  tribes,  felt  his  views 
strengthened  and  elucidated  by  the  eloquent  language  of  the  impa»'" 
sioned  child.  What  wonder,  then,  that  the  voice  and  smile  of  one 
whose  nature  harmonized  so  well  with  her  own,  should  have  be 
come  very  dear  to  the  lone  girl  ?  What  wonder,  as  the  distinctions 
of  society  lost  their  impression  in  the  lapse  of  years,  he  thould  have 
become  her  ideal  of  all  that  is  manly  and  elevated  in  human  na 
ture  1  It  was  sven  so,  and  Margaret  could  not  abide  the  abhor 
rence  with  which  Alice  regarded  the  state  of  her  affections. 

Often,  in  the  silence  of  those  long  winter  nights,  the  sisters  were 
aroused  by  the  waitings  of  some  bereaved  mother  (for  this  was  a 
season  of  great  mortality  among  the  children  of  the  tribes,)  whe, 
with  unbraided  hair  and  robes  loose  in  the  midnight  storm,  was  out 
removing  the  snow  from  the  grave  of  her  little  ons,  while  her  tremu 
lous  voice  sent  up  the  dirge  for  the  d«ad,  in  words  like  these : 

"How  wilt  thou  dwell  in  the  spirit  land,  my  beloved  1  Who  will 
bring  thee  food,  and  spread  the  skins  to  shelter  ihee?  Thou  art 
alone.  I  see  thy  little  hands  beckon  me  away,  for  thou  art  cold  and 
hungry.  Would  that  I  might  go  to  thee,  for  my  breasts  are  full  of 
milk,  and  I  would  warm  thee  in  my  arms.  Alas !  the  night  wind  is 
about  thee,  and  the  cold  sxow  is  thy  covering.  I  put  my  head  to  the 
turf,  and  hear  thy  feeble  wailing.  My  child  !  my  child  !  why  didst 
thou  go!" 

This  propensity  of  the  savage  to  transmit  the  physical  sufferings  of 
this  to  the  invisible  world,  was  to  the  last  degree  revolting  to  the 
mind  of  Al  ce.  It  may  be,  that  she  f«lt  more  repugnance  for  the 
error  in  point  of  faith,  than  compassion  for  the  sufferings  which  it 
implied;  for  she  had  learned  to  attach  great  importance  to  the  tenets 
of  the  religion  she  professed,  without  the  ability  to  perceive  that  this 
vague  mingling  of  spiritual  and  physical  qualities  in  the  mind  of  the 
savage,  when  he  contemplated  the  invisible  world,  was  the  natural 
consequence  of  the  difficulty  felt  by  the  human  mind  in  fixing  itself 
upon  pure  abstractions,  especially  in  a  rude  state,  where  animal 
wants  become  an  engrossing  subject  of  contemplation,  owing  to  the 
difficulty  of  supplying  them. 

Various  motives  impelled  the  subtle  and  vindictive  Kumshaka  to 
throw  himself  in  opposition  to  Tecumseh.  He  had  never  heartily 
enlisted  in  the  policy  of  confederation,  which  his  brother  had  so 
imuch  at  heart,  having  been  impelled  thereto  rather  by  the  force  of 
example,  and  that  power  by  which  a  strong  mind  naturally  controls 
the  weak  ;  while  his  own  love  of  ease,  disinclination  to  reform  of 
every  kind,  as  well  as  his  innate  levity  of  character,  disqualified  bim 
from  the  labors  and  sacrifices  necessary  to  promote  it.  All  imbe 
cility  is  apt  to  be  vindictive.  Motives  that,  to  the  strong,  must  bear 
proportional  magnitude,  to  such,  are  often  of  the  most  trivial  char- 
i  acter ;  a  disappointment  of  any  kind,  trifling  in  itself,  and  common 
1  to  all,  is  enough  to  arouse  the  most  baneful  passion?,  and  instigate  to 
revenge,  deadly  as  the  hatred  inspired.  Kumshaka  saw  himself 
supplanted  everywhere — in  the  field  of  battle,  in  the  council-half, 
and  lastly,  in  his  love.  He  had  now  a  motive  for  action.  His  facul 
ties  even  acquired  a  keenness  of  perception,  a  subtlety  of  combina 
tion,  while,  thread  by  thread,  he  wove  tho  tissue  of  his  revenge. 
He  found  in  Ackoree  a  kindred  spirit,  whose  devices  were  always 
ready  for  his  use.  It  would  be  vain  to  pretend  that  he  loved  the 
girl :  it  were  a  desecration  of  terms ;  for  the  bond  of  sympathy  be 
tween  them  was  not  that  of  the  high  and  holy  attributes  of  the  soul, 
which  alone  deserve  the  name  of  love,  but  that  fearful  compact  bjr 
which  evil  passions  seek  their  affinities,  and  enjoy  a  horrible  plea 
sure  in  so  doing.  Ackoree,  with  a  woman's  penetration,  saw  their 
relations  to  each  other,  and  she  took  a  wild  pleasure  in  sometimes 
a  sisting,  sometimes  foiling,  his  machinations.  In  tormring  him,  she 
gratified  her  own  wounded  pride ;  in  assisting  him,  she  helped  to 
crush  a  rival. 

It  was  Kumshaka  that  promoted  the  numerous  aggressions  apoo 
the  whites,  hoping  thereby  to  provoke  a  collision,  which  must  for 
ever  destroy  the  links  of  confederation.  He  affected  to  think  the 
i  project  impracticable,  and  the  sooner  the  red  man  threw  off  its  re 
straints  the  better.  How  could  materials  so  discordant,  be  made  to 
| conjoin  1  How  could  a  people  perpetually  at  war  with  each  oi 
'stimulated  by  wrongs  yet  unrevenged,  be  made  to  forget  thejr  am- 


24 


THE    NEW    WORLD 


THE  Ws  STERN 


e  jsities,  and  smoke  the  calumet  about  one  great  council-fire  1  It 
a  ould  never  be.  The  blood  ef  the  slain  would  cry  out  for  redress, 
and  the  hatchet  would  leap  from  its  burial.  Or,  suppose  that  the 
red  men  everywhere  should  unite,  should  become  one  people,  must ; 
it  be  for  peace  1  Rather  let  them  become  one,  that  their  strength 
may  be  great,  and  they  able  to  drive  the  white  man  from  the  earth. ' 
It  was  thus  that  Kumshaka  incited  the  warriors ;  at  first  casually,  \ 
in  the  chase,  or  about  the  coals  of  the  wigwam,  and  then  more 
openly.  Cautiously  did  he  attack  the  motives  of  Tecumseh ;  but ' 
the  chief  was  away,  and  there  are  few  generous  enough  to  defend 
-the  absent.  Gradually,  he  insinuated  suspicions  as  to  the  motives  i 
of  his  policy  with  the  whites.  A  feeble  girl  alone,  he  pretended, '• 
was  sufficient  to  interpose  between  the  white  and  the  red  man. 

At  first,  he  was  heard  with  incredulity;  but  the  iteration  of  sur-| 
mises,  the  proposition  for  a  course  of  conduct  more  accordant  with 
their  natural  characters,  gradually  wrought  conviction  amoag  those  j 
little  accustomed  and  little  desirous  to  think  for  themselves. 

It  was  in  vain  that  the  Prophet  represented  the  power  and  resources  \ 
of  the  whites,  their  superiority  in  arms  and  mode  of  warfare  produc 
ing  fearful  odds  against  them;  that  their  only  bond  of  security,  of:| 
existence,  even,  as  a  people,  consisted  in  this  union  and  repose.  | 
Peace  and  consolidation  alone  could  preserve  their  existence  ua 
people.     His  fol!ow«rs  were  unable  to  take  this  dispassionate  view 
of  things.     They  felt  the  pressure  of  present  evils,  the  memory  of 
recent  wrongs.    They  knew  not  how  to  interpose  great  moral  and 
political  relations,  that  should  henceforth  be  a  barrier  and  a  defence. 
They  lacked  that  far-seeing  wisdom  to  perceive  the  utility  and  glory 
of  measures,  that  should  convert  a  feeble  and  dispersed  people,  di-  j  \ 
vided,  oppressed,  jealous  of  each  other,  and  jealous  of  the  whites, 
into  a  powerful  and  prosperous  whole.     They  were  like  the  insane 
man,  who  would  throw  himself  naked  upon  the  thick  bosses  of  the 
mailed  giant. 

Margaret  saw  the  impending  storm,  a»d  herself  urged  the  Prophet 
to  dispatch  runners  to  facilitate  the  return  of  Tecumseb,  and  warn 
him  of  the  perils  that  threatened  the  cause  he  had  so  much  at  heart ; 
but  Eliskwatawa.  was  loth  to  confess  that  Tecumseh  could  do  more  to 
avert  the  impending  evil  than  himself.     It  may  be  too,  that  even  he 
felt  some  degree  of  jealousy  at  the  great  popularity  of  his  brother, 
and  was  willing  to  interpose  a  check ;  for  when  did  ever  the  devoted  '•  \ 
patriot  find  himself  aided   by  others  as  pure-hearted   as  himself  ^j 
When  did  he  find  followers  ready  to  cast  r.side  the  mantle  of  selfish- 1  \ 
ness,  &-nd  join  in  the  holiness  of  the  cause,  forgetful  of  all  emolument  | 
and  all  personal  ambition  1    Whatever  might  have  been  the  motives  j 
of  the  Prophet,  whether  those  of  rivalry,  or  the  result  of  inactivity,  i  j 
he  certainly  yielded  to  the  current  of  public  opinion,  which  he  had  \\ 
ceased  to  control,   and  tacitly  acquiesced  in  their  departure  from  i 
originally  adopted  principles. 

Margaret  wept  in  secret  grief  to  behold  this  whelming  of  the  waters  i  | 
over  the  ark  of  Indian  safety.     Often  did  she  wish  it  were  possible  i  j 
for  her  to  seek  Tccumseh,  and  warn  him  to  return ;  but  whither  j 
bend  her  steps  1  where,  in  the  solitudes  of  the  western  valley,  hope  J 
to  find  him,  who  alone  could  ensure  the  safety  of  the  tribes  1     Her 
own  faith  in  the  permanency  of  the  confederation  became  weakened, 
since  but  a  single  maa  served  to  hold  it  together,  and  with  him  it 
might  be  dissolved.     Incited  by  a  spirit  akin  to  his,  she  wished  the 
power  had  been  hers  to  assume  the  right  to  govern  in  the  solemn 
council,  and  to  punish  those  who  should  be  treacherous  to  the  cause,  i! 
Sometimes  a  strong  energy  impelled  her  te  put  herself  at  their  head,  jj 
aad,  by  the  force  of  her  own  will,  awe  them  to  submission :  but  her  ji 
youth,  the  timidity  of  Alice,  and  the  gentleness  of  her  se.x,  forbade  ]j 
the  measure.     She  felt  a  noble  sympathy  in  what  she  knew  would  j 
be  the  sufferings  of  Tecurnsih,  as  if  the  magnitude  of  hia  griefs  were  • 
her  own  likewise.   She  asked  no  more  for  the  emotions  that  governed  i  j 
her ;  she  felt  their  purity,  their  elevation,  and  that  they  carried  her 
out  from  the  dominion  of  self  into  companionship  with  greatness 
and  virtue,  in  whatever  shape.    This  was  enough.    She  had  no  petty 
cares,  no  debasing  pissions,  to  divide  and  weaken  the  empire  of  her 
sou),  and  her  thoughts  were  absorbed  in  sublime  contemplations. 
From  the  holiness  of  her  own  emotions,  she  learned  to  judge  of 
those  of  Tecumseh.     She  remembered  the  ominous  import  of  his 
words,  "Sorrow  is  earning  upon  Tecumseh,"  and  she  felt  herself! 
already  admitted  into  the  sanctuary  of  hia  griefs ;  for  when  we  sharp  j ; 
the  sorrows  of  our  friend?,  we  leave  the  outer  court,  and  enter  into 
the  holy  of  holies  cf  the  human  heart. 

Love,  with  Mirgaret,  was  a  part  of  her  adoration  for  all  that  is 
noble  and  exalt  sd  in  humn  virtue,  the  earthly  realization  of  those 
attributes  of  perfection,  with  which  in  an  infinite  degree  we  invest 
Jhe  Deity.  Such  a  love  serves,  more  than  all  other  exercises  of  the 


human  faculties  to  ennoble  the  heart  of  its  possessor.  It  was  not  the 
creature  of  passion  and  impulse,  swayed  by  jealousy,  asd  extinguished 
by  neglect;  it  was  a  holy  and  enduring  fhme,  requiring  no  foreiga 
aliment,  fed  as  it  was  from  the  fountain  of  her  own  innocent  and  ex 
alted  nature.  It  was  like  the  h.-dden  flame  of  some  unrevealed  ora- 
ter,  invisible  till  the  tempest  and  the  earthquake  should  develope  its 
existence. 

She  remembered  the  sorrowful  words  of  the  Chief.  "  Evil  is  com 
ing  upon  Tecumseh,  why  should  he  take  the  blossom  fror.cjthe  sun 
shine,  to  see  it  wither  in  his  own  cabin?"  andshe  knew  that  she  was 
beloved;  that  in  all  his  wanderings  his  thoughts  reverted  to  her.  She 
fslt  the  consciousness  of  this,  in  the  still  midnight,  when  she  held 
sweet  communion  with  him,  for  she  knew  that  their  spirits  commin 
gled.  And  now,  that  the  forebodings  of  prophecy  were  daily  be 
coming  reality,  she  acknowledged  a  holier  bond  of  sympathy  draw 
ing  th?ir  hearts  together.  True,  they  had  aot  talked  of  love  ;  there 
were  no  personal  endearments  to  be  remembered  with  a  thrill  in 
after-times;  but  what  were  these  to  a  mind  like  hers,  that  dwelt  upon 
that  internal  and  holy  sympathy,  the  union  of  mind  with  mind  con 
stituting  the  pure  essence  of  love  !  His  sorrows  had  become  her  sor 
rows,  and  she  folded  her  hand  upon  her  bosom  and  wept,  and  they 
were  tears  of  blessedness.  Love  is  religious  in  its  nature,  when  of 
that  holy  kind  which  alone  properly  deserves  the  name.  Who  is  there 
in  the  blessed  consciousness  of  being  beloved,  whether  by  maid, 
friend  or  child,  that  has  not  felt  his  nature  drawn  cut  into  fuller 
acknowledgment  of  Him  who  is  Love  itself,  as  if  the  soul  were  inha 
ling  its  own  appropriate  element  1  So  was  it  with  Margaret ;  she  felt 
a  clearer  understanding  of  the  Invisible  Presence,  au  enlargement 
and  dignity  of  nature  proportionate  to  the  depth  of  her  love.  She 
had  looked  into  the  deep  fountains  of  her  own  soul,  and  seen  there- 
the  records  of  her  own  immortality. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

All  this  in  her  had  wrought  no  change. 
No  anxious  doubt,  no  jealous  fear, 

But  he  meanwhile  had  worJs  most  strange, 
Breathed  is  my  gzntler  .NoMish's  ear, 
Which  made  her  wish  that  I  were  near.          HOFFMA.W. 

ALICE  had  been  for  many  days  ill,  very  ill,  and  often  in  her  des 
pondency  had  she  thought  she  should  die,  there  in  those  wild  solitudes, 
with  none  but  Margaret  to  receive  her  last  sigh  ;  and  yet  si  hopeless 
had  she  become,  that  the  thought  of  death  was  pleasant  to  her.  She 
pictured  to  herself  the  swelling  turf  under  the  shadow  of  the  old  trees, 
and  the  warm  pleasant  sunshine  resting  upon  it,  the  meek  flowrets 
clustering  there  as  if  in  love,  and  the  birds  giving  out  thrir  sweet 
music  as  knowing  that  the  sleeper  beneath  delighted  in  all  harmo 
nies.  The  leaves  of  autumn  too  heaped  by  its  side,  and  the  cricket 
chirping  in  their  midst,  while  the  bright  river  should  roll  beneath- 
uttering  for  ever  its  dirge-like  melody.  The  character  and  manners 
of  Margaret  were  so  unlike  what  sh-e  had  anticipated,  so  unlike  those 
with  whom  she  had  associated,  that  she  was  unprepared  either  to  ap 
preciate  or  understand  them.  Accustomed  to  forms  and  the  daily 
routine  of  medium  life,  she  had  no  standard  by  which  to  judge  of  the 
daring  intellect,  and  unshackled  strength  of  opinion  which  charac 
terized  her  sister.  Meek  and  gentle  in  her  nature,  distrustful  of  her 
self,  and  accustomed  to  spread  out  her  hands  as  it  were  to  win  the 
support  ot  others,  she  shrank  from  the  self-sustaining  intrepidity  of 
the  other  as  something  to  be  feared  and  distrusted.  Her  lo-ve  too, 
retiring  and  timid,  needed  more  to  sustain  its  fervor  than  did  the 
same  passion  in  the  breast  of  Margaret.  She  beheld  her  sister  firm 
and  undoubting  in  her  attachment,  requiring  nothing  to  sustain  it  but 
the  fervency  of  her  own  nature,  neither  seeking  or  perhaps  expecting 
the  possession  of  its  object,  content  to  exist  in  its  own  blessed  un 
consciousness  ;  while  she  herself  was  full  of  doubt  and  anxiety,  mar 
velling  much  that  he  who  had  spoken  of  love  should  so  long  abandoa 
her  to  silence  and  neglect.  Perplexed  and  disappointed  in  all  things, 
her  heakh  ha-d  languished  beneath  the  struggles,  and  now  she  felt  as 
if  there  were  little  in  life  to  desire.  As  her  system  became  daily 
exhausted  and  she  thought  herself  neariag  the  last  dread  bourne,  she 
was  astonished  to  perceive  how  Margaret's  strong  and  elevated  faith, 
divested  from  all  dogmatisms,  and  human  creeds,  helped  to  relieve 
her  from  the  terrors  and  hesitancy  engendered  by  the  stern  doctrines 
in  which  she  had  been  educated.  She  learned  from  Margaret,  to  es 
timate  the  character  of  the  soul  by  the  purity  and  elevation  of  its  de 
sires,  and  to  take  comfort  from  a  consciousness  of  a  growth  of  good 
ness  in  herself. 

Margaret  was  unwearied  in  her  attentions  upon  her  sister,  and 
Minaree  exercised  all  her  skill,  which  was  not  inconsiderable,  in 
procuring  remedies  which  her  own  experience  had  taught  would  be 


CAPTIVE- 


THE    NEW     WORLD. 


efficacious.  Herbs  and  roots  were  compounded  by  her  into  refresh 
ing  and  strength-imparting  beverages,  and  she  taxed  her  culinary 
lere  ia  preparing  delicacies  of  various  kinds  for  her  relief.  Under 
the  united  efforts  of  Margaret  and  Minaree  hsr  health  gradually  re 
turned,  and  leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  sister  she  was  able  to  reach  the 
bower  of  grape  vines  on  the  bank  of  the  river.  She  seated  herself 
upon  the  wicker-bench  and  cast  her  eyes  out  upon  the  blue  sky,  and 
the  river  smiling  in  the  sunshine.  Margaret  had  gathered  for  her  a 
few  early  violets  which  she  held  between  her  thin  pale  finger?.  Twice 
she  looked  in  the  face  of  her  sister  and  attempted  to  speak,  but  the 
effort  was  unavailing  and  she  burst  into  tears.  Margaret  was  affect 
ed,  and  sh-e  put  her  arms  tenderly  about  her  waist  and  drew  her  to 
her  bosom. 

"Speak,  dear  Alice,"  she  said,  "Margaret  is  not  proud  now  as 
she  used  to  be,  and  she  can  feel  for  the  weak  and  suffering.  Alice 
would  tell  of  her  white  lover;  let  her  speak,  for  Mirgaret  will  listen 
as  doth  the  bird  to  the  singing  of  its  rnate.'^ 

A  blush  mounted  the  pale  cheek  of  Alice,  but  it  faded  away  as  she 
replied — 

"  I  fear,  Margaret,  I  shall  see  him  no  more,  that  he  has  forgotten 
me;  but  should  he  return,  Margaret,  you  will  show  him  my  grave, 
and  perhaps  he  will  weep  over  it.  You  miy  tell  him  too,  that  I 
prayed  for  him  to  the  last."  Her  voice  was  choked  by  sobs,  and 
she  ceased. 

Margaret  lookel  wonderingly  in  her  face,  as  if  she  w.re  doubtful 
of  having  comprehending  her  arigh*. 

"  What  mean  you,  Alice,  that  he  may  have  forgotten  you  1  did  he 
not  say  you  were  dearer  than  life  to  him  1" 

Alice  colored  at  the  reproof.  "  Yes,  Margaret,  but  it  islosg  since 
•we  have  met,  and  he  may  have  changed  ere  now." 

Margaret  colored  with  a  slight  look  of  seorr|-.  "  And  so  you  call 
this  love,  Alice  1  Doth  the  bird  talk  of  distrust  to  its  matel  Is  its 
song  made  up  of  discontent  1  Doth  the  flower  repine  that  the  sun 
shine  is  long  away  1  Rather  doth  it  not  fold  its  leaves  meekly,  wait 
ing  till  the  shadow  be  past  1  Alice,  Alice,  this  is  selfishness,  not  love. 
Love  is  the  going  out  of  self  and  becoming  absorbed  in  the  being  of 
another,  and  there  can  be  no  misundeistinding  of  that  other  self,  for 

their  natures  are  one." 

"  Is  it  so,  indaed  V  said  Alice  musingly.  "  Help  me  to  so  believe, 
Margaret,  for  I  am  sadly  weak  and  distrustful.  Mast  we  live,  dear 
sister,  in  the  midst  of  woods  and  watsrs,  and  in  the  shadows  of  great 
mountains,  apart  from  oar  species,  to  preserve  our  own  na 
tures  unpervertedl  Are  your  feelings,  Margaret,  primeval  a  id  chaste 
like  the  freshness  of  undegenerate  mm,  or  only  those  of  the  crude 
demi-savage,  to  whom  the  refinements  of  life  are  a  weakness  and  a 
restraint." 

Margaret's  cheek  ag-ain  reddened,  but  she  only  said,  "  Look,  Alice, 
intoyour  own  heart,  and  behold  how  pure  may  be  its  emotions,  and  then 
judge  of  mine.  The  innocent  need  not  distrust.  Have  you  ceased 
to  love  Mansfield  now  that  he  is  away  1  Then  why  imagine  that  he 
should  forget  you  1  If  he  is  long  absent,  it  may  be  caused  by  a  thou 
sand  various  motives  other  than  those  of  forgetfulness.  The  distance 
is  very  great,  and  the  hazards  many  ;  besides,  I  doubt  now  whether  he 
would  be  permitted  to  enter  the  village.  It  is  evident  that  war  is 
determined  upon,  and  the  measures  of  our  people  are  always  seer? t 
No  future  intercourse  will  be  allowed  between  the  white  and  the 
red  man." 

Alice  turned  deathly  pale,  for  till  now  she  had  not  fully  understood 
the  danger  of  h*r  situation.  "O  Margaret,"  she  exclaimed,  "can 
we  not  make  our  escape  V  She  grasped  Mirgaret's  arm  wildly,  for 
a  suppressed  laugh  sounded  close  to  her  ear. 

"  Come  in,  Ackoree,"  said  Margaret  carelessly,  and  ths  girl  en- 
tered  the  bower  and  stood  before  the  sisters,  her  glittering  eyes  ex 
pressive  of  the  utmost  satisfaction. 

»  So  the  Swaying  Heed  talks  ot  escape.     Can  the  bird  that  looks 
into  tae  eyes  of  the  serpent,  escape  1     Can  the  beast,  whose  trail  i 
huntsman  has  followed  day  by  day,  hops  to  escape  1    No  more  can 
the  white  girl  escape  Ackoree.      Tecumseh  is  long  absent.     ] 
must  be  dead.       Kumshaka  will  be  the  chief  of  the   tribe,  and 
Ackoree  his  bride." 

She  stepped  to  the  side  of  Margaret,  and,  stooping,  looked 
her  very  eyes,  and  continued  in  a  low,  husky  voice— 

"The  Swaying  Reed,  too,  shall  be  his,  and  the  bond-maid 
Ackoree." 

Alice  gasped,  and  fell  fainting  on  the  breast  of  her  si 


Margaret  laid  her  gently  upon  the  turf,  and  turning  to  the  gmo 
drew  herself  proudly  np,  and  even  the  fierce  eyes  of  Ackoree  fefi 
beneath  her  stern,  iiidignast  look. 

"Ackoree  is  a  fit  wife  for  K«mshak»,  for  he  is  vain  and  spiteful; 
>ut  she  dare  not  rest  a  linger  upon  the  person  of  the  Swaying  Reed: 
he  Great  Spirit  hath  given  her  a  charmed  life,  which  canffot  be 
harmsd.  Tell  Kumshaka  he  dare  not  loek  into  her  eyes— it  were 
death  to  him.  L-.t  the  shadow  of  Ackoree  be  taken  hence." 

Awed  by  the  haughty  tone  of  defiance  assumed  by  Margaret,  and 
he  victim  of  that  superstition  to  which  she  alluded,  th;  girl  turned 
slowly  away,  as  at  the  bidding  of  a  supernatural  agent. 

Margaret  assisted  Alice  to  her  couch,  and  then  calmly  detailed  to 
her  the  necessity  that  she  should  summon  strength  of  mind  to  repel 
jvery  weakness,  as  the  surest  means  of  protecting  themselves  from 
he  malice  of  Ackoree.  She  eould  feel  no  sympathy  for  the  suffer- 
ng,  but  might  be  awed  by  the  daring  of  those  who  could  summon  a 
spirit  stronger  than  her  own.  She  besought  Alice  to  endeavor  to 
•egain  her  health,  and  premised  that  when  sufficiently  firm,  she 
vould  seek  with  her  the  white  settlements. 

Alice  embraced  her  tenderly,  and  expressed  her  surprise,  aa  well 
,s  delight,  at  her  determination.  While  they  were  yet  talking,  an 
ndian  youth,  of  beautiful  and  manly  promise,  raised  the  skins  of  the 
mtrance,  and  glancing  smilingly  around,  stood  hesitating.  Margaret 
leckoned  with  her  hand,  and  he  entered  and  stood  before  her.  He 
ocked  admiringly  at  the  as'ers,  as  he  stood  with  his  hand  beneath 
lisrobe,  smiling  archly,  a3  if  to  sport  with  their  impati-rnce. 
"  The  Brave  may  deliver  his  message,"  said  Margaret. 
It  is  probable  the  term  so  skilfully  applied,  had  its  effr cf,  for  his 
ook  grew  composed,  and  his  form  elevated,  and,  taking  a  parcel 
rom beneath  his  robe,  he  laid  it  at  her  feet;  then  pressing  his  hand 
not  ungracefully  upon  his  heart,  he  retired. 

Margaret  took  up  the  package,  and  parting  the  fillets  that  confined 
t,  revealed  skins  of  the  rarest  texture,  and  an  arrow,  on  which  was 
nscribed  a  rattle-snake  in  the  act  to  spring,  and  four  moons.  The 
maiden  colored  deeply,  and  sat  looking  upon  the  gift,  nor  OECC 
glanced  at  the  face  of  her  sister.  Alice  remarked  her,  and  wondered 
hat  she  should  feel  so  much  more  of  sympathy  for  Margaret  than 
she  had  hitherto  done ;  but  love  is  the  great  leveller,  and  she  now 
almost  participated  in  the  emotions  of  her  sister. 

She  pressed  the  hand  of  Margaret :  "  Tell  me,  sisler,"  the  said, 
'  what  does  it  mean  1" 

Margaret  started  at  the  tone  of  tenderness ;  but  she  replied  frankly, 
'It  means  that  I  am  beloved,  and  that  he  will  be  heie  in  four 
moons." 

"  It  is  from  Tecumseh  T' 

Margaret  motioned  in  token  of  assen',  and  turned  a^ay,  fearful 
hat  Alice  might  say  more. 

The  package  had  been  brocght  by  one  ef  the  perti'S  tiat  had  that 
day  entered  the  village — probably  one  of  the  new  converts  to  the 
iews  of  the  great  leader — who  h\d  thus  come  to  join  his  foices.  and 
seen  eutrusted  with  the  comm  ssion. 

Under  the  pronrse  of  Margaret,  that  she  would  seek  with  her  the 
tvhite  settlementa,  the  health  of  Alice  began  to  amend  rapidly,  and 
many  were  the  little  preparations  she  began  to  make  in  reference  to 
heir  departure.  She  pictured  to  herself  the  sorrow  of  Minatee 
vhen  abandoned  by  her  foster-child,  and  her  heart  was  filled  with 
enderness.  She  made  many  articles  of  comfort  and  convenience, 
xpressly  for  her  use,  in  gratitude  for  her  kindness  to  herself  and 
Margaret.  The  maidens  and  matrons  of  the  village  came  in  for  a 
share  of,  her  remembrance,  and  she  gave  them  tokens  of  her  good 
ill.  The  children  were  assisted  in  the  construction  of  new  toy*, 
and  their  simple  expressions  of  affectionate  interest  r<  ceived  with 
renewed  tenderness.  Then  she  would  picture  to  herself  what  must 
lave  been  the  anxiety  of  ths  excellent-hearted  Mrs.  Mason  at  her 
protracted  absence,  and  her  del;ght  to  welcome  their  return,  till  the 
pagination  almost  became  a  reality  to  her. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

He  ceasjl.    Her  ere  nai  on  him— an  1 1!  e  blocx?. 

In  rush  tunril'v  IDS  from  the  citadel, 

Spoke  from  hsr  fore-he  id  M  it  «wei  ther  fram'.—  MILLIK. 

A  FEW  weeks  nft^r  the  incidents  described  in  the  last  chapter,  the 
sisters  had  retired  to  their  couch,  wond*ring  much  at  the  protracted 
absence  of  Minaree,  who  was  always  the  first  at  night  to  dispose 
herself  to  slumber.  The  tumult  of  the  village  had  ceased,  th« 


24 


THE     NEW     WORLD 


THE  WESTERN 


in  the 

a  lovildren  were  hushed  to  repose,  and  the  games  of  the  youth  sus- 
Of  /-jaded.  All  was  silent,  except  the  leaders  of  the  people,  who  were 
.  assembled  in  the  great  council-hoase,  to  discuss  measures  of  public 
import.  Margaret  had  fallen  into  her  first  slumber,  and  dreamed 
that  she  was  about  to  leave  suddenly  in  quest  of  Tecumseh,  to. 
reveal  to  him  the  state  of  affairs  at  the  village,  and  the  treachery  of 
Kumshaka,  when  the  hand  of  Ackoree  was  placed  upon  her  shoul 
der  :  often  as  she  attempted  to  move,  the  maiden  held  her  back 
She  started  up,  for  she  became  aware  that  a  touch  was  indeed  upon 
her  shoulder.  It  was  that  of  Minaree.  She  laid  her  hand  upon  her 
lips  in  token  of  silence,  and  motioned  her  to  leave  her  couch.  Mar 
garet  followed  her  to  the  other  side  of  the  cabin,  and  Minaree  looked 
eadly  in  her  face. 

"  The  arrow  will  reach  the  heart  of  Minaree,  through  the  body  of 
her  child,"  she  said,  tearfully. 

Margaret  was  silent,  while  she  went  on :  "  Tecumseh  is  a  great 
chief.  They  say  he  is  dead,  and  that  he  did  not  love  his  people. 
They  say  he  sought  for  peace  with  the  white  man,  because  of  his 
love  for  the  Swaying  Reed." 

She  would  have  said  more,  but  Margaret  waved  her  hand  impa 
tiently.  She  arrayed  herself  in  a  sumptuous  robe  of  rare  feathers, 
bound  the  wampum  about  her  slender  waist,  and  tied  the  moccasons 
to  her  feet.  She  twined  a  tuft  of  feathers  amid  her  abundant  hair, 
and,  thus  accoutred,  looked  like  some  proud  maiden  of  their  own 
race,  upon  whom  the  Great  Spirit  had  lavished  beauty  exceedingly. 
Drawing  the  elastic  bracelet  over  her  round  arm,  which  was  other 
wise  naked  to  the  elbow,  she  left  the  cabin.  Minaree  watched  her 
motions  till  all  was  complete,  and  then  quietly  disposed  herself  to 
slumber. 

Kumshaka  was  in  the  midst  of  an  impassioned  harangue,  in 
which  he  seemed  to  have  caught  a  portion  of  the  fervid  eloquence 
of  his  brother.  There  was  the  same  power  of  appeal,  the  same 
affluence  of  diction,  and  force  of  argument ;  but  the  spirit  that,  in  its 
elevation  and  far-seeing  prophecy,  lent  a  holiness  to  the  every 
utterance  of  Tecumseh,  was  far  from  resting  upon  the  lips  of  the 
speaker.  He  was  powerful — for  jealousy  and  revenge  had  lent  him 
their  aid — and  he  spoke  from  the  burning  energies  of  his  own  vin 
dictive  passions.  Yet  few  of  his  hearers  understood  the  nature  of 
his  inspiration,  while  the  good  of  the  tribes,  and  hatred  to  the  white 
man,  were  the  burden  of  his  appeal. 

In  the  midst  of  one  of  his  most  glowing  periods,  while  his  hand 
gracefully  swept  the  circle  about  him,  and  his  glowing  eye  turned 
from  sid«  to  side,  his  voice  faltered,  his  eye  fell;  for  there,  with  a 
proud,  calm  dignity,  stood  the  Swaying  Reed  at  the  threshold, 
confronting  him  with  a  look  in  which  cold  and  biting  scorn  was 
the  predominant  expression.  Thrice  he  attempted  to  rally,  but  the 
freezing  look  of  the  haughty  girl  was  upon  him,  and  he  could  not 
resist  its  influence.  Mortified  and  enraged,  he  pointed  his  quivering 
finger  forward,  and  between  his  clenched  teeth  uttered — 

"Behold  the  bait  for  which  Tecumseh  would  sell  his  people. 
Behold  the  serpent  that  hath  crept  into  the  lodge,  to  sting  its 
victims." 

All  .eyes  were  turned  (upon  the  lone  girl,  where  she  stood — one 
hand  grasping  the  folds  of  her  robe,  her  head  thrown  back,  revealing 
the  short  compressed  lip,  and  the  small  chisseled  features,  pale  and 
statue-like  in  their  fixed  and  calm  expression.  One  moment  ehe 
confronted  the  gaze  of  that  agitated  multitude,  and  then  slowly 
advanced  to  their  midst.  Even  Kumshaka  stepped  back,  awed  by 
her  quiet  majesty  ;  for  she  quailed  not  at  the  fi«rce  eyes  bent  upon 
her.  As  she  prepared  to  speak,  she  looked  round  upon  the  dark 
group,  and  the  ready  blood  mantled  cheek  and  bosom,  but  her  voice 
was  clear  and  untremulous  in  its  intonations. 

"  The  Shawanese  have  taken  the  massasauga  as  (he  emblem  of 
their  tribe.  A  noble  reptile,  that  first  warns  its  victim  of  danger : 
ere  it  strikes,  it  proclaims  the  peril.  Then  who  would  look  for 
treachery  in  a  Shawaneel  Who  would  look  for  a  secret  blow  upon 
the  defenceless,  from  the  arm  of  a  Shawanee,  and  that  defenceless 
one  a  brother  1  The  shadow  of  Tecumseh  is  not  found  in  the  village. 
Moons  grow  large  in  the  heavens,  and  fade  again  from  the  sky,  yet 
it  comes  not.  Doth  Tecumseh  pursue  his  game  1  doth  he  feast  with 
the  youth  of  his  people  1  doth  he  dwell  at  ease,  and  the  wants  of  his 
people  forgotten  1  When  did  ever  Tecumseh  disport  himself,  and 
the  red  man  was  as  nothing  to  himl  Let  not  the  chief  with  lying 
lips  talk  of  the  treachery  of  Tecumseh ;  that  he  would  be  at  peace 
with  the  white  man,  and  sacrifice  the  good  of  his  people  for  the 
emiles  of  any  maiden.  The  chief  knows  it  is  false.  Kumshaka 
looked  upon  the  Swaying  Reed,  and  felt  her  ecorn.  Before  it  had 


turned  his  heart  to  bitterness,  he  was  an  advocate — cold,  indeed — 
for  who  would  look  for  the  bravery  of  the  warrior  or  the  eloquence 
of  the  orator  from  Kumshaka  1  Yet  he  was  an  advocate  for  the 
measures  of  Tecumseh." 

As  she  alluded  thus  to  the  chief,  her  cheek  reddened  with  maidenly 
shame,  and  a  derisive  laugh  burst  from  the  assembly,  in  the  midst  of 
which  the  discomfited  chief  withdrew. 

"  Let  no  one  impute  unworthy  motives  to  Tecumseh.  While  the 
youth  of  the  tribe  are  at  rest,  Tecumseh  is  all  day  on  the  march 
his  feet  are  weary  with  travel,  and  his  eyes  heavy  with  watching' 
The  dews  of  night  are  upon  his  robe,  and  the  stars  listen  to  his  padl 
die,  as  he  goes  down  the  rapid  river.  He  sleeps  within  the  sound  of 
the  cataract,  and  the  Great  Spirit  cometh  to  him  in  dreams.  In  after 
years,  when  the  Indian  shall  have  become  a  great  people,  old  men 
shall  tell  of  the  wisdom  of  Tecumseh,  and  children  shall  tell  of  his- 
toils  and  sufferings.  The  Great  Spirit  is  with  him.  He  came  to 
him  as  he  lay  an  infant  upon  the  earth,  and  touched  his  lips  with 
a  living  coal.  Thence  came  the  wisdom  and  the  eloquence  of  his 
tongue.  Tecumseh  is  not  dead.  He  is  calling  the  Great  Council  of  the 
tribe?,  to  judge  the  treacherous  Winneraac  and  his  friends,  and  to 
consult  upon  measures  to  be  adopted  for  the  good  of  our  people.  He 
is  not  dead.  The  Great  Spirit  will  give  you  a  token  by  which  ye 
shall  know  that  he  still  lives.  In  four  moons  he  will  be  here.  la 
token  whereof,  look  out  upon  the  full  moon.  Not  a  cloud  is  in  the 
sky ;  yet  the  Great  Spirit  hath  caused  his  shadow  to  pass  over  it  ; 
and  as  that  shadow  shall  pass  from  its  face,  leaving  it  clear  and 
beautiful  in  its  brightness,  so  shall  all  shadows  pass  from  the  fame  of 
Tecumseh." 

All  eyes  followed  the  direction  of  those  of  the  maiden,  and  there, 
upon  the  lower  limb  of  the  moon  lay  a  dark  and  heavy  mass,  even  like 
the  dread  shadow  of  the  Eternal,  and  the  whole  multitude  looked  oa 
with  awe  and  terror. 

Margaret  had  observed  the  phenomenon  on  her  way  to  the  lodge, 
and  was  at  no  loss  to  understand  its  nature ;  familiar  with  the  char 
acter  and  superstitions  of  the  people  she  confronted,  she  Mt  no  hesi 
tancy  in  turning  it  to  her  own  use.  As  she  quietly  stole  from  their 
midst,  the  youth  of  whom  we  have  before  spoken  walked  by  her  side, 
and  as  he  looked  reverently  from  the  shrouded  moon  to  the  still  face 
of  his  companion,  he  whispered, 

"  The  Great  Spirit  hath  touched  the  lips  of  the  Swaying  ReeoT. 
She  hath  the  heart  of  a  red  maiden,  and  wisdom  as  from  the  spirit 
land." 

Kumshaka  attempted  no  further  open  attack  upon  his  brother,  but 
the  poison  he  had  infused  did  not  fail  of  its  effects.  The  policy  so 
urgently  recommended  by  Tecumseh  had  been  interrupted,  and  the 
great  accession  of  numbers  at  the  village  rendered  the  discussion  of 
principles  and  the  enforcement  of  pacific  measures  next  to  impossi 
ble.  Every  day  witnessed  their  departure  from  the  primitive  habits 
hitherto  adopted,  and  all  the  mystical  rites  and  supernatural  agency 
of  the  Prophet  were  insufficient  to  lead  them  back,  to  preserve  the 
good  order  of  the  village,  or  protect  the  whites  from  their  atrocities. 
He  had  listened  like  the  rest  of  his  people  to  the  solemn  appeal  of 
Margaret,  with  amazed  wonderment;  too  wary  to  exhibit  his  emo 
tions,  he  beheld  the  verification  of  her  prediction  with  the  cool  in 
difference  of  one  accustomed  to  sport  with  the  credulity  of  others,  and 
who  is  sure  that  however  mysterious  the  charm  may  appear,  still 
the  solution  must  be  simple  to  the  initiated. 

At  night,  when  the  village  was  hushed  to  repose,  he  came  to  the 
cabin  of  Minaree,  and  beckoned  Margaret  to  follow  him  forth.  She 
stood  with  him  by  the  river  side,  the  full  moon  resting  upon  the  fig 
ure  of  the  maiden,  with  her  pure  brow  gleaming  in  its  light;  the  soft 
wind  lifting  up  the  curls  from  her  bosom,  her  hands  calmly  folded, 
and  eyes  raised  fearlessly  to  the  face  of  the  towering  chief,  who 
leaned  carelessly  upon  a  huge  club,  and  regarded  her  with  a  search 
ing  look.  Neither  spoke  for  many  minutes.  At  length  the  chief 
commenced  in  terms  of  reproach: 

"The  charm  of  the  maiden  was  not  well  wrought.  Why  did  she 
so  long  delay  the  return  of  Tecumseh!  He  should  be  here  now. 
Eliskwatawa  would  see  the  maiden  work  her  charm.  She  will  do  so 
and  hasten  his  return." 

Margaret's  eye  kindled,  for  she  felt  the  suggestion  to  be  equivalent 
to  a  command.  At  another  time  she  might  have  frankly  confessed 
the  source  of  her  information,  as  would  have  been  more  in  accord 
ance  with  the  natural  candor  of  her  mind  ;  but  now  she  understood 
too  well  the  danger  of  her  situation,  to  hazard  anything  that  might 
contribute  to  her  own  influence.  She  confronted  him  awhile  with  ft 


CAPTIVE. 


THE    NEW     WORLD. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Beside  the  auld  hearth  th 


id  hearth  .He  haifc  cherished  for  life 
Went  and  ,ad  sits  the  lonely  Midwife- 
Time  hath  left  many  >  trace  on  her  brow 
But  grief  hath  not  troubled  h.r.pirit  till'now.-j.L .  CH..T« 


"Let  the  Prophet  look  upon  the  calmness  and  beauty  of  that  pair 
face,  and  read  the  destinies  it  reveals.  Let  him  turn  to  the  stars  and 
understand  their  teachings.  They  speak  a  language  to  him  who 
can  understand.  Floods  and  storms,  the  tempest  and  the  earthquake, 
death  and  disaster,  are  all  shadowed  forth  in  their  fearful  teachings. 
Wise  men  have  read  them,  and  foretold  the  destinies  of  nations.  Sa-|!canoe- 
ges,  for  thousands  and  thousands  of  years,  have  studied  the  language  j  lne  infant  city 

of  the  midnight  stars,  and  told  what  should  be.     And  what  they  have     men  indignant  at  repeated  atrocities.and "resolved 
foretold  has  been  as  the  revelations  of  the  Great  Spirit.     Men  have 
heard  and  trembled.     What  they  foretell  is  not  to  be  changed.     It  is 
the    immutable  fate.     Let  not  the   chief  esk   for  the  exhibition  of 


sttzyss&ESSSfc 
«jfusS5S25£w5E2 

known  influence  over  the  savaees.  HnH  mn^«.. 


charms. 

stands. 


The  Swaying  Reed  deals  in  none. 
She  hears  and  is  silent." 


She  reads  and  under- 


During  the  utterance  of  this  her  voice  became  deep  and  energetic, 
and  the  blood  rushed  to  her  cheek  ;  she  yielded  to  a  vehemence  of 
manner  that  relieved  in  part  the  wrong  she  felt  she  was  doing  her 
own  nature  in  thus  assuming  the  position  of  imposture.  The  Proph 
et's  keen  eye  was  fixed  upon  her  as  if  he  would  read  her  very  soul ; 
but  the  dauntless  girl  quailed  not  beneath  his  searching  glance.  It 
would  seem  that  a  strange  awe  grew  upon  him  as  the  moon  lay  upon 
her  white  face,  radiant  with  the  fervor  of  her  emotions,  for  he  spake 
in  a  low,  reverent  voice  : 

"The  Prophet  will  sit  at  the  feet  of  the  Swaying  Reed,  and  learn 
the  mysteries  of  the  stars.  When  they  utter  their  midnight  talk,  he 
will  listen  and  understand.  Let  the  Swaying  Reed  reveal  the  secret 
of  her  power.  Elisk  watawa  would  cause  the  moon  to  veil  her  bright 
ness,  the  stars  to  dim  their  lustre,  and  appear  again  at  his  bidding 
He  would  awe  the  people  with  strange  prodigies.  He  would  speak, 
and  behold  the  Great  Spirit  should  lay  his  shield  upon  the  moon's 
face.  Speak,  maiden,  for  thy  wisdom  is  that  of  the  spirit  land." 

Margaret  fixed  her  sorrowful  eyes  upon  the  face  of  the  chief,  and 
felt  even  as  if  a  ray  from  the  Eternal  had  penetrated  the  recesses  of 
her  soul,  revealing  the  one  shadow  upon  her  own  temple  of  truth; 
still  the  teachings  of  her  father  had,  perhaps,  afforded  as  much  of  as 
trology  as  the  pure  science  of  Astronomy;  and  these  mingling  with  the 
enthusiasm  engendered  by  woods  and  mountain  solitudes,  had  in 
fused  a  belief  in  the  mysterious  influences  of  nature,  that  made  the 
language  she  adopted  in  reality  but  little  at  variance  with  hor  own 
faith.  Her  answer  was  solemn,  and  according  to  the  convictions  oi 
her  own  heart : 

"  The  Swaying  Reed  can  impart  no  power  to  the  Prophet.  The 
stars,  in  their  stillness  and  beauty,  have  a  language  audible  to  him 
who  in  the  lowliness  of  truth  bows  before  the  Great  Spirit.  Thus 
have  the  old  men  of  other  times  spread  their  gray  locks  to  the  mid 
night  wind;  have  fasted  till  the  flesh  no  more  hindered  the  going  forth 
of  the  spirit — prayed  till  the  Great  Spirit  uttered  itself  in  ther  own, 
and  then  were  the  heavens  opened;  they  heard  the  melody  of  the 
star?,  that  mysterious  and  beautiful  melody,  revealing  the  destiny  of 
men  and  the  fate  of  empires.  The  vistas  of  moons  and  suns  opened 
before  them  in  their  eternal  courses  of  gladness,  singing  responsive 
to  the  heart  of  blessedness,  that  throbs  in  the  great  universe.  Let 
the  Prophet  fast  and  pray  as  did  these,  and  then  learn  that  his  will 
can  neither  stay  nor  alter  their  courses  The  voice  of  the  Almighty 
alone  can  speak  and  they  obey.  Let  him,  if  he  would  learn  their  ut 
terance,  veil  his  face  with  awe,  and  behold  them  in  their  naajesty  ! 
The  tempest  rageth  beneatti  them  and  they  look  forth  again  calm  and 
undisturbed.  Can  the  Prophet  at  his  will  bid  the  whirlwind  uprooi 
the  oak  of  a  thousand  years  1  Can  he  cause  the  sun  to  appear  whilr 
the  black  cloud  hangeth  in  the  heavens  1  Can  he  look  to  the  earth, 
and  cause  the  blossom  to  come  forth ;  or  the  lily  upon  the  stream  to 
blush  at  its  own  whiteness  1  Behold,  it  is  the  Almighty  that  quieteth 
the  earth  with  the  south  wind.  How  then  can  the  Prophet  hope  to 
speak,  and  the  moon  and  the  stars  shall  obey  him  1" 

As  she  ceased,  ehe  glided  lightly  away,  leaving  th.e  wondering 
chief  gazing  into  the  depths  of  the  shadowy  sky,  with  a  new  sense  of 
its  marvellous  beauty.  A  holy  influence  stole  upon  his  heart,  an  ut 
terance  of  the  Deity  within  responding  to  the  voices  that  called  to 
him  from  the  glory  and  loveliness  of  the  external  world.  His  dim 
thoughts  partially  penetrated  the  thick  veil  of  ignorance  and  super 
stition,  and  beheld  the  purer  light  of  truth  and  goodness.  Longtime 
he  stood  communing  with  his  own  nature  through  the  agency  of  that 
spread  out  before  him,  feeling  mysterious  enlightenments,  new  and 
wonderous,  there,  amid  the  holy  solitudes  of  midnight. 


r  tne  savages,  and  moderation  in  the  m, 

ment  of  affairs,  inspired  hope  and  confidence.  Rerno]  !™Mgr 
his  part  were  madeto  the  natives,  but  without  ^TSSli 
was  permitted  access  to  the  village.  The  General' Go 
roused  by  the  growing  hostility,  dispatched  troops  for  the 
the  frontier,  and  the  whole  territory 


same  rne- 
In 

repair 
nt  trt- 


»nd  he  found  relief  only  in  the  assurance  afforded  him,  by  stra^li 
parties  of  the  natives,  that  the  sisters  were  secure  and  well  V 
missalsj  which  he  trusted  would  reach  Alice  through  the  same 
dium,  were  either  lost  or  destroyed,  for  none  ever  reached  her 
the  discharge  of  his  services,  it  had  been  necessary  for  him  to 
to  Washington,  which,  at  that  time  of  bad  roads  and  unfreque 
vel,  was  a  journey  of  no  small  enterprise,  and  detained  him'som. 
months.  On  his  return,  finding  the  aspect  of  affairs  still  more  threat 
enmg,  his  fears  were  increased  as  to  the  safety  of  the  sisters  The 
calls  of  his  country  were  many  and  urgent-the  times  seemed  ap 
proaching  a  crisis,  when  the  native  or  the  white  man  must  yield  h'e 
position.  In  case  of  collision,  he  knew  well  the  first  victims  of  the 
war  would  be  any  whites  that  might  be  with  the  Indians;  they  would 
be  offered  to  the  manes  of  those  that  should  perish  in  battle.  Troops 
even  now  were  prepared  to  advance  upon  Tippecanoe,  and  he  trem 
bled  for  the  fate  of  the  two  girls.  Unable  longer  to  support  his  anx 
iety,  he  determined  to  effect  their  escape  before  the  commencement 
of  hostilities.  For  this  purpose  he  threw  up  his  commission,  resolved 
at  all  hazards  to  penetrate  to  the  Indian  settlement.  He  believed 
their  escape  would  be  more  easily  effected  in  this  private  and  friendly 
manner,  than  if  demanded  as  a  public  measure.  Difficulties  aug 
mented  on  every  sid»,  and  in  every  view,  but  he  believed  this  the 
least  obnoxious. 

Mr.  Mason  had  not  been  inactive  in  attempts  to  relieve  them,  but 
all  had  been  ineffectual.  When  therefore,  informed  of  the  resolution 
of  his  young  friend,  he  replied,  instantly  addressing  hie  wife  : 

"  Anny,  I  must  go  with  the  youth,  and  the  Lord  will  be  with  me- 
These  are  perilous  times,  Anny,  and  evil  must  not  befal  the  maiden. 
What  saith  the  scripture  1  Is  it  not  that  he  who  had  an  hundred 
sheep,  left  the  ninety  and  nine,  and  went  out  into  the  wilderness  to 
seek  that  which  was  lost  1  Did  the  shepherd  ask  who  will  keep  the 
ninety  and  nine  1  Verily  the  Lord  was  their  keeper  ;  even  so  will 
tie  keep  the  household  of  him  wholrusteth  in  him." 

Anna  turned  pale,  and  pressed  her  child  to  her  bosom,  for  their 
dwelling  was  one  of  the   most  exposed  in  the  city.     Nevertheless, 
3«chv»as  her  reverence  for  her  fcusband,  her  habitual  submission  to 
lis  will,  that  she  never  for  a  moment  doubted  the  propriety  of  the 
sourse  he  adopted.     Mr.  Mason  felt  less  anxiety  in  leaving  home  at 
his  juncture,  PS  the  city  would  be  left  underjthe  protection  of  troop*, 
and  every  house  had  in  part,  been  converted  into  an  armed  garrison 
Weapons  and  munitions  of  war  were  ready  for  defence,  and  men 
slept  with  the  loaded  musket  at  their  side,  prepared  for  any  emer 
gency.     Timid  women  taxed  their  imagination  as  to  the  beet  course 
o  be  adopted  in  case  of  an  alarm,  and  embraced  their  children  at 
light  as  those  whom  death  might  separate  at  any   instant.     Cheeks 
were  steeped  in  tears  in  the  midst  of  perturbed  slumber,  as  the  fore 
bodings  of  the  day  presented  in  dreams,  the  horrors  of  death  and 
ilaughter,  the  tomahawk  and  flame. 

Mrs.  Mason  had  suffered  exceedingly  in  her  anxiety  for  Alice, 
naguifying  the  hardships  and  the  dangers  to  which  she  had  in  reality 
leen  exposed.  Her  repugnance  to  the  race,  imbibed  by  education, 
tnd  a  knowledge  of  their  atrocities,  had  caused  her  to  invest  them 
•vith  everything  that  is  revoking,  and  unfitted  her  to  judge  dispas 
sionately  of  the  treatment  to  which  they  had  been  subjected,  or  to 
letect  the  redeeming  traits  of  their  character.  Often  when  Mr. 
vlason  presented  the  "lone  orphan,  the  tender  lamb  in  the  midst  of 
•volves,"  as  he  was  wont  to  designate  her,  before  the  throae  of  mer 
cy,  his  voice  became  choked  with  emotion,  and  Anna  would  respond 
with  a  flood  of  tears.  Her  own  prayers  also  were  uttered  with  » 


THE      NEW      WORLD. 


THE  WESTERN 


'ency  wondrous  even  to  herself.      Every   incident  of  the  day,  I 'was  full  of  household  affections,  and  gentle  benevolence,  and  where 
;ugtit  her  freshly  to   recollection.     Were    she  happy,  Alice  were    the  heart  is  thus  disposed,  ways  are  never  wanting  for  the  exercise 
T~-— -sdfal  to  participate  in  her  happiness  ;  sorrowful,  she  needed  her    of  its  propensities. 

ildr° veet  '°°k  °f  svmPathy- 

°>nde  Mrs-  Janes  suffered  equally  with  the  rest  She  felt  the  want  of 
gsf.  the  winning  sweetness  of  Alice  to  lure  her  from  a  sense  of  her  in 
firmities,  and  make  her  feel  again  the  sunshine  of  the  earth. 


Even  little  Jimmy  learned  as  if  by  instinct  to 
amuse  and  gratify  her,  and  the  baby  would  creep  across  the  room, 
and  grasping  her  apron  climb  to  her  side  ;  there  he  would  stand 
swaying  by  the  frail  support,  till  his  words  and  smiles  won  her  atten 
tion.  Anna  at  such  times  did  not  call  the  child  away  as  many  would 


form  become  daily  more  wasted,  and  an  unnatural  softness  crept  over;  have  done,  for  the  old  lady  rarely  took  any  notice  of  it,  as  the  very 


her.     Often  would  she  wipe  her  dim  eyes  with  the   corner  of  her 
apron,  her  shrivelled  hand  trembling  with  age. 

There  is  always  something  painfully  touching  in  the  grief  of  the 
aged.  The  shaking  of  the  wasted  hand,  with  its  sallow  skin  and 
prominent  veins  ;  the  scanty  supply  of  tears,  and  the  sigh,  which  no 
eager  comes  as  a  relisf,  but  deep  and  heavy  has  become  in  truth  a 
groan,  wrung  as  it  were,  from  the  very  vitals  ;  the  hand  is  no  longer 
pressed  upon  the  eyelids  as  if  weeping  brought  its  o»vn  censolation, 
but  wanders  uneasily  about  the  garments,  now  smoothing  the  folds, 
and  now  pressed  against  the  loose  girdle.  The  foot  is  moved  in 
quick  restless  taps  upon  the  floor,  and  the  eyes  are  never  turned  as 
if  expecting  sympathy  from  others.  Alas  !  who  is  there  that  is  ready 


;act  would  have  conveyed  a  reproach  ;  but  she  allowed  the  child  of 
i  four-score,  and  the  infant  of  a  year  to  adopt  their  own  course,  and 
tin  time  they  became  friends  together,  and  delighted  to  interchange 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Proud  maiden,  with  thy  pale,  imperial  brow, 
And  thoughts  too  lofty  for  a  world  like  this — 
The  cup  of  life,  dark  drugged  as  it  is  now, 
Were  meter  for  thee,  than  the  cup  of  bliss — 
No  meaner  crown  is  thine 
Than  that  which  fame  shall  twine. — MS. 

THE  doctrine,  that  without  the  shedding  of  blood  there  can  be  HO 


to  lay  the  aged  and  stricken  head  upon  his  bosom,  and  smooth  the  j  remission  of  sin,  announced  in  the  written  revelation  of  God,  hath 
gray  locks,  and  kiss  the  furrowed  brow,  that  has  known  the  weari-  j|  found  a  response  to  an  original  sentiment  found  in  the  mind  of  all 
ness  and  the  sorrow  of  many  years.  There  is  something  awful  in  ||  nations,  however  rude  or  uncultivated.  In  whatever  way  it  came 


the  weeping  of  the  aged.  They  are  those  that  have  known  the  full 
bitterness  of  life  ;  have  beheld  the  beloved  of  youth  pass  to  the  land 
of  spirits  ;  have  known  the  folly  of  earthly  hopes  ;  have  found  the 
canker  at  the  root  of  every  promise,  and  the  golden  fruit  turned  to 
ashes  of  bitterness.  Love,  and  youth,  and  hope,  and  glory,  all  the  chi 
meras  of  life,  have  passed  away,  and  they  live  on  like  those  ancient 
summits,  that  from  their  sterileness,  and  riven  aspect,  tell  of  former 
light  and  flame,  though  their  fires  are  long  since  extinguished.  No 
wonder,  then,  that  we  are  prone  to  turn  fearfully  away  from  thesor- 


there,  whether  by  immediate  inspiration,  preserved  by  tradition,  or 
growing  out  of  that  intuitive  sense  of  justice,  teaching  us  that  a 
penalty  must  be  paid  for  all  wrong-doing  ;  from  whence  springs  the 
hope,  that  the  sacrifice  of  the  pure  and  holy  may  procure  its  remit 
tance,  it  is  unnecessary  now  to  inquire ;  suffice  it,  that  such  is  the 
fact.  The  savage,  suffering  from  famine,  from  pestilence,  er  defeat 
in  war,  at  once  recognizes  the  principle,  and  believes  that  the  gccu- 
mulated  sins  of  his  people  have  provoked  the  anger  of  the  invisible 
powers,  and  a  sacrifice  must  be  made  in  order  to  propitiate  them. 


row  of  the  aged — to  feel  there  is  something  awful  in  the  revival  of  I  He  selects  an  animal  which  he  believes  suitable  to  the  occasion ;  or, 
human  passions,  in  those  who  are  supposed  to  have  survived  them,  i  if  the  case  is  urgent — he  is  desirous  to  avert  great  evil,  or  to  procure 
No,  BO  ;  it  is  for  the  young,  the  hoping,  the  beautiful,  to  weep  and  [[great  good — a  solemn  sacrifice  is  made  of  a  human  victim;  a  captive 


find  a  response  in  every  heart;  the  brow  of  the  aged  can  repose  alone 
upon  the  bosom  of  its  God. 
Mrs.  Mason,  besides  her  own  cares  and  anxieties,  found  abundance 


taken  in  war,  whose  death  shall  appease  the  manes  of  the  departed, 
!  and  win  the  favor  of  the  invisibles. 

It  had  been  the  wish  of  Tecumseh  to  do  away  these  sacrifices,  but 


of  exertion  necessary  in  order  to  relieve  the  growing  infirmities  of  the  people,  regarding  them  as  an  essential  part  of  their  religion,  ac- 
the  old  lady.  The  winter  had  been  unusually  severe,  and  she  suffered  |iquiesced  only  while  there  was  nothing  in  their  affairs  that  would 
from  the  many  complaints  incident  to  age.  From  the  departure  of  j  render  them  of  consequence.  The  Prophet,  belonging  more  imme- 
Alice,  a  listlessness  had  crept  over  her,  that  told  plainly  the  absence  'diately  to  the  priesthood,  was  unwilling  to  part  with  anything  in 
of  the  sweet  girl  lay  heavily  upon  her  heart.  She  would  sit  for  hours  j ,  ancient  usages,  that  should  add  to  the  impressiveness  of  their  ritual, 
watching  the  flakes  of  snow  as  they  sailed  slowly  to  the  earth,  turn- j;  The  custom  had  partially  gone  into  decay,  but  when  Kumshaka 
ing  their  diamond  points  to  the  light,  or  driven  by  the  wind,  swept  j  proposed  its  revival,  and,  in  a  paroxysm  of  extraordinary  sanctity, 
in  eddies  around  the  dwelling.  At  the  least  sound,  she  would  hur-  i ;  urged  its  necessity  in  the  present  period  of  famine  and  approaching 
riedly  wipe  her  spectacles  and  look  earnestly  in  the  direction  of  the  [hostilities,  he  was  at  once  ready  to  adopt  the  measure.  It  would 


door,  as  if  expecting  her   to  enter.     At   first  she  turned  peevishly 
away  from  the  proffered  kindness,  and  delicate   attentions  of  Anna, 


seem,  that  the  brothers  understood  intuitively  who  was  to  be  the 
victim,  for  none  was  named,  and  preparations  were  immediately 


but  as  her  feebleness  increased,  she  b?gan  to  yield  to  them  a  silent  |  i  made  for  a  great  feast,  preparatory  to  the  sacrifice.  The  next  day 
acquiescence.  At  last  her  nature  so  much  sofcened,  that  she  called  j  Margaret  received  a  small  reed,  with  mysterious  characters  thereoa 
herAnny,  and  began  to  crave  small  attentions  from  ho:  in  the  man- j: inscribed,  which  she  at  once  understood  as  the  ceremony  of  invita- 
aer  of  a  querrulous  child.  The  first  time  she  addressed  Mrs.  Mason  j  tion  to  a  sacred  festival.  Alice  saw  her  array  herself  with  unwonted 
by  the  familiar  and  affectionate  name  of  Anny,  the  good  woman  was  ;  care,  and  with  many  preparatc-ry  ablutions,  take  her  way  to  the 
so  affected,  that  she  burst  ints  tears,  and  gently  pressing  her  lips  to  !  great  hall  of  council. 

An  immense  fire  was  kindled  in  the  centre  of  the  lodge,  and  the 
!  sacred  weed  filled  it  with  its  fumes.  The  Prophet,  in  full  canonicals, 


the  shrivelled  cheek  of  the  other,  she  whispered — 

"Thank  you,  grandmother,  I  was  sure  you  would  love  me." 


The  old  lady  half  pushed  her  aside,  saying  "  Go  away  child," 
but  she  wiped  a  tear  from  her  eyes  with  the  end  of  her  thumb,  and 
her  thin  lips  quivered,  though  she  compressed  them  very  tightly 
over  her  toothless  jaws  to  conceal  her  emotions. 

After  the  departure  of  Mr.  Mason,  she  became  still  more  the  vie 
tim  of  restlessness  and  peevish  impatience.  The  ea^'er  exercise  of 
her  senses  seemed  to  have  imparted  a  preternatural  activity  to  them 


1 1  swept  the  circle,  chanting  in  a  low  voice,  and  holding  aloft  an  im 
mense  rattlesnake,  which  the  hunters  had  found  in  the  woods.  The 
old  men  and  chiefs  of  the  tribe  were  seated  next  the  flame_,  and  the 
outer  circles  were  occupied  by  the  assembled  multitude.  On  the  en 
trance  of  Margaret  the  crowd  opened,  and  the  Prophet  pointed  her 
to  a  place  among  the  elders  of  the  tribe.  Spreading  out  his  two 
hands,  with  the  snake  across  them,  the  Prophet  commenced. 


were  the  devices  adopted  by  Anna  to  dissipate  the  tedium  of  absence ; 


Sounds  hitherto  inaudible  to  the   decaying  organs,  became  keenly        "Didst  thou  perish,  O  manitou,  to  foretell  the  doom  of  the  Shawa- 
perceptible,  and  even  the  sense  of  sight  began   to  improve.     Many 


nee  1   The  hunters  beheld  the  conflict  with  terror.    The  black  snake 
towered  aljft,  and  thou  didst  ring  the  alarm.  Fierce  was  the  struggle. 


patchwork  of  curious  and  intricate   patterns  was  commenced,  and  I  Ye  did  lash  the  air  in  your  fury;  and  your  scales  clashed  like  the 
the  old  lady  for  a  while  would  become  absorbed  in  its  construction  ;  J  spears  of  the  warrior.     But  the  folds  of  thy  foe  were  about  thee  ; 


when  this  became  wearisome,  she  planned  the  manufacture  of  vari 
ous  articles  of  the  dairy  in  which  Mrs.  Jones  could  assist ;  among 
these  were  cheeses  variously  colored,  and  improved  by  the  addition 
of  rare  buds.  She  even  became  a  reader,  and  in  addition  to  her  in 
structions  of  little  Jimmy,  read  the  whole  of  Pilgrim's  Progress  aloud, 
ostensibly  to  amuse  the  child  ;  but  the  grandmother  never  failed  to 
-put  her  spectacles  to  the  top  of  her  cap,  fold  her  arra?,  closely  cressed 
npon  her  thin  waist,  and  lean  forward  in  absorbed  attention.  Anna 


twined  like  the  binding  cords  of  the  canoe.  Thou  art  dead.  Such 
is  the  fate  of  the  red  man.  The  white  man  binds  him  in  his  chains, 
and  he  is  powerless.  He  lies  like  the  manitou  of  the  Shawanee, 
dead  upon  the  earth.  Shall  he  revive  ?  Will  life  return  to  the 
massasauga  1" 

"  Life  shall  return  !"  shrieked  a  voice  at  the  threshold.  Margaret 
covered  her  eyes  at  the  terrible  apparition.  It  was  Ingaraga.  A 
hundred  years  had  quenched  the  light  of  her  eyes,  and  bleached  the 


CAPTIVE. 


THE     NEW      WORLD. 


I 


raven  of  her  hair.  Her  flesh  was  wasted  and  cadaverous,  and  her 
nails  protruded  from  hei  fingers.  She  turned  her  sightless  eyes  over 
the  multitude,  and  spread  out  her  bony  hands.  She  shook  her  head 
from  side  to  side,  as  if  to  catch  some  sound,  though  death  had  long 
since  come  upon  the  organ ;  in  so  doing  her  white  hair,  which 
reached  nearly  to  her  feet,  encircled  her  like  a  shroud,  from  which 
peered  the  shrivelled  face,  thin  and  diminutive,  and  the  quenched 
eyeballs. 

"  Lifc  shall  return  !"  she  continued,  approaching  the  fire,  and  lift 
ing  the  serpent  from  the  ground ;  "  Life  shall  return,  even  as  it  doth 
come  to  tlw  massasauga  !"  Scarcely  were  the  words  uttered,  ere  the 
snake  coiled  itself,  its  tail  vibrating  so  as  to  be  almost  invisible,  and 
its  red  jaws  distended.  Taking  a  twig  she  carried  in  her  hand,  she 
played  from  side  to  side,  retreating  to  the  open  air  :  the  serpent 
followed  her  motions  as  if  by  enchantment. 

Ingaraga  returned,  her  white  hair  streaming  over  her  shoulders, 
and  with  a  velocity  almost  supernatural,  she  thrice  circled  the  flame, 
and  cast  therein  powerful  charms.  !?he  stopped  short,  and  staggered 
heavily,  exhausted  with  the  effort ;  her  chest  heaved,  her  frame 
quivered,  and  her  face  fearfully  distorted.  At  first  her  words  were 
inarticulate,  but  at  length  her  cry  wrought  itself  into  language  fright 
fully  vehement  and  shrill. 

"  Wo — wo,  to  the  red  man !  He  hath  forgotten  the  worship  of  his 
fathers  !  His  fields  are  barren,  and  the  game  flteth  from  his  grounds 
His  young  men  are  feeble  in  battle;  and  the  arrow  goeth  crooked  in 
the  chase  !  A  black  markka  upon  him — he  is  doomed  to  death' 
Wo — wo !  The  eagle's  nest  was  upon  the  rocks  !  Up  where  the 
lightnings  played,  and  the  strong  winds  battled  !  He  looked  off  upon 
the  prairies,  and  down  upon  the  big  lakes:  for  his  prey  was  upon 
every  side.  The  wings  of  his  children  were  thick,  and  their  sound 
as  the  voice  of  the  tempest !  A  foe  crept  to  the  rock,  and  hurled  the 
young  into  the  depths  beneath  !  The  cry  of  the  old  eagle  went  up, 
and  it  was  heard  like  the  thunder  in  the  dark  clouds — calling  to 
gether  the  fiery  bolts !  There  was  the  rushing  and  shivering  of 
wings,  and  the  tumult  of  battle  !" 

Her  voice  was  lost  amid  inarticulate  mouthings — a  white  froth 
gathered  about  her  lips — she  swayed,  heavily  forward,  aiidjj  lay 
writhing  upon  the  earth.  The  Prophet  assumed  the  tone  of  prophecy. 
"  The  eagle's  nest  shall  again  appear  upon  the  rock ;  the  bones 
of  his  prey  shall  be  heaped  beneath  him,  and  he  shall  look  forth  in 
his  might.  The  altars  of  the  Invisible  have  been  deserted — there  is 
no  blood  upon  the  stones — the  fire  has  gone  eut,  and  moss  creepeth 
where  the  fresh  victim  should  bleed.  The  Shawanee  will  return  to 
the  worship  of  his  fathers.  Behold  !  the  Great  Spirit  hath  prepared 
the  victim  !  He  will  be  pleased  with  his  children,  and  their  glory 
shall  return." 

Margaret's  cheek  assumed  an  ashy  paleness,  and  her  Vreath  came 
heavily,  for  a  sure  instinct  revealed  to  her  that  Aliee  was  the  victim 
desigaed.  Hurriedly  she  revolved  the  possibility  of  escape :  but 
how,  with  the  vindictive  Ackoree  and  the  subtle  Kumshaka  to  watch 
their  motions?  How,  too,  when  the  superstition  of  the  people  would 
lead  them  to  watch  vigilantly  the  victim  designed  for  the  altars  of 
their  gods  1  Scarcely  knowing  what  she  did,  she  arose  from  her  seat, 
and  cast  her  mournful  eyes  about  the  assembly.  She  heard  a  low 
laugh,  which  she  knew  to  be  that  of  Ackoree.  The  Prophet  spoke. 
"  Let  not  fear  come  to  the  heart  of  the  Swaying  Reed.  The  SUB 
will  long  dance  upon  her  pathway,  and  she  will  be  as  the  voice  of 
the  Great  Spirit  to  his  red  children." 

Margaret  felt  as  if  a  film  were  gathering  over'.her  eyes ;  the  place 
whirled  aboat  her,  and  the  faces  of  the  multitude  changed  to  fearful 
and  grotesque  images.  Her  throat  was  parched,  and  a  strange  ring 
ing  came  to  her  ears.  Pressing  her  hand  heavily  upon  ^her  brow, 
she  at  length  found  utterance. 

"  It  is  well.     The  white  girl  must  die." 

Kumshaka  arose  from  his  feet,  and  confronted  her  searchingly. 
«  Let  not  the  Swaying  Reed  hope  that  the  white  girl  will  escape. 
She  is  doomed  !" 

Pale  as  marble,  heart-stricken  as  she  was,  a  portion  of  her 
epirit  lent  its  fire  to  her  eyes,  and  curl  to  her  lip 

"  The  Swaying  Reed  neither  hopes  nor  desires  escape.    Whence 
comes  the  new  sanctity  of  the  weak  chief  1    Whence  his  courage  1 
It  is  that  he  may  work  the  death  of  a  lone  girl.     He  will  bring  rum 
upon  his  people  to  gratify  his  own  hatred.     The  white  girl  must 
Hath  the  Prophet  listened  to  the  stars  ?    Hath  the  Great  Sp.nt  come 
to  him  in  dreams,  and  called  for  one  to  bleed  for  the  people  1 
be  it.     Let  the  victim  be  brought  to  the  altar ;  but  let  her  not  b 
dragged  thither  with  streaming  eyes  and  tears.    Let  not  shrieks  and 


i  wailing  be  heard,  when  ye  sacrifice  to  the  Great  Spirit.     Ye  as 
a  victim." 

There  was  a  death-like  pause.  Margaret  left  the  circle  of  chiefs, 
and  stood  in  the  area  in  front.  Her  face  was  utterly  bloodless  :  the 
small  clasped  hands  were  like  cold  white  statuary,  and  her  breath  so 
light  that  it  lent  no  motion  to  her  chest.  Fearful  was  the  contrast 
where  the  curls  of  her  long  dark  hair  lay  upon  her  bosom.  Low 
exceedingly,  and  sweet,  were  the  tones  of  her  voice. 

"  Ye  ask  a  victim.  Lo,  I  come  !"  and  she  raised  her  eyes  upward 
with  an  expression  of  holy  patience.  "  Let  me  be  laid  upon  your 
altars.  Would  you  make  a  welcome  sacrifice  to  the  Great  Spirit,  it 
must  be  a  willing  one.  Not  with  terror,  and  many  tears;  but  one 
who  would  willingly  die  for  the  good  of  the  tribes.  Behold  me. 
What  is  there  in  life  to  bind  the  Swaying  Reed  to  earth  1  She  loags 
for  the  spirit  land.  There  is  no  light  in  her  path.  She  has  loved 
the  red  people,  why  should  she  not  die  for  them  1  But  the  timid 
maiden  must  not  die.  No  evil  must  come  to  her.  She  must  be  shel 
tered  like  the  infant  of  few  moons.  Let  me  go  with  her  to  our 
people,  and  the  Swaying  Reed  will  return  and  die  in  h«r  place." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  applause,  interrupted  by  Kumshaka. 
"Think  you  the  bird,  escaped  the  snare,  will  return  to  it  again? 
The  pale  maiden  must  not  escape." 

Margaret's  lip  curled  with  bitter  pride.  "  There  is  no  truth  in  the 
heart  of  the  chief,  and  he  cannot  read  it  in  the  hearts  of  others. 
Before  one  moon  I  will  return,  unless  the  Great  Spirit  should  sooner 
take  me  to  himself."  And  she  took  the  lighted  calumet,  laid  her 
hand  upon  her  heart,  and  blew  the  sacred  smoke  upward,  and  then 
cast  a  piece  of  the  weed  into  the  flames  at  her  feet. 

"It  is  enough,"  said  the  Prophet.  "  Tbe  Swayiug  Reed  shall  g»- 
with  the  timid  maiden.  She  dare  not  break  a  vow  made  to  the 
Great  Spirit.  In  one  moon  she  will  be  here." 

"  Should  she  fail,"  returned  Kumshaka,  "let  her  listen  in  every 
wind  for  the  arrow  of  Kumshaka — see  in  every  shadow  the  passage 
of  his  form — and  lie  down  every  night,  sure  that  he  is  by,  ready  for 
the  death." 

Margaret  listened  with  a  faint  smile,  and  with  slow  steps  left  the 
feast,  for  the  food  was  upon  the  coals,  and  many  and  solemn  were 
the  rites  still  to  be  observed.  She  was  now  to  prepare  Alice  for  es 
cape,  and  yet  conceal  from  her  the  fearful  pledge  by  which  it  had 
been  procured.  Her  foot  had  lost  its  elastic  spring,  and  she  moved 
with  that  kind  of  retarded  speed  with  which  the  dreamer  attempts  to 
struggle  forward,  and  yet  feels  himself  drawn  to  the  earth.  There 
was  a  strange  bewilderment  about  her  senses,  and  she  found  herself 
at  every  moment  collecting  the  links  of  thought ;  turning  her  mind 
backward,  to  see  what  was  the  secret  of  that  heaviness  that  grew 
upon  her — whether  it  were  a  reality,  or  but  the  impression  of  a  too 
vivid  dream.  '  The  new  moon,  wi'  the  auld  moon  in  her  arms,' 
hung  upon  the  verge  of  the  horizon,  but  she  scarcely  beheld  the- 
thread  of  silver,  so  prepared  was  her  mind  to  observe  the  shadow  it 
embraced.  Leaf  and  blossom  were  at  rest  ;  the  stars  looked  down 
beholding  themselves  in  the  river,  but  their  very  tranquillity  was  op 
pressive,  so  much  did  the  hopelessness  of  life  speak  to  her  heart. 
She  leaned  against  the  entrance  of  her  cabin,  scarcely  conscious  she 
did  so,  looking  abstractedly  into  the  dimness  of  the  woods.  The- 
moon  quivered  for  a  moment  upon  the  tops  of  the  trees,  gleam«flt 
faintly  through  the  dense  foliage,  ihen  left  all  to  silence  and  gloom — 
yet  she  regarded  not  the  change.  Tongaxm  touched  her  hand. 

"  The  feast  will  be  long — Kumshaka  has  a  false  heart.  The  mai 
dens  must  escape  ere  the  chiefs  shall  call  for  blood.  Tougatou  will 
go  with  them." 

Margaret  entered  the  cabin.  Alice  was  sleeping  soundly ;  and 
she  held  back  the  screen,  the  dim  torch-light  fell  upon  her  sweet 
face,  the  r«UBd  cheek  resting  upon  her  arm,  and  the  brown  hair 
scattered  in  profusion  over  her  shoulders,  the  long  lash  sweeping  its 
graceful  curve.  Margaret  listened  to  the  light  breathing,  half  in 
wonder  that  aught  human  could  look  so  much  like  blessedness. 

Alice,"  she  said,  and  ehe  started  at  the  unearthly  tones  of  her 
own  voice.  Alice  arose,  looking  with  surprise  at  the  ashy  palene«s 
of  her  sister. 

«  We  must  away,  Alice  ;  I  will  go  with  thee  to  thy  people. 

Alice  fell  they  were  in  deadly  peril,  for  the  voice  aad  look  o 
Margaret  revealed  it,  but  she  staid  for  no  questioning  ;  she  embrac 
her,  and  silently  prepared  for  departure.    When  she  laid  her  ban! 
apon  the  Bible,  Margaret's  cold  fingers  were  upon  her  own,  and 
whispered,  "  Let  it  remain." 

Alice  remembered  long  that  deathly  touch,  and  pale  sorrowful 
face  They  left  the  cabin  in  silence,  for  even  Mmaree  l.ngered  at 
the  feast,  unsuspecting  the  early  departure  of  her  foster-child. 


THE     NEW     WORLD 


THE  WESTERN 


ith 


1V, .._.' lver>  swollen  by  recent  rains,  rolled  on  with  a  deep,  heavy  swell;!!  we  go  out  and  claim  our  affinity  with  the  unseen  but  all-pervading 
f  "-nd  and  the  sound  of  ths  raPids  above  added  to  the  gloom.  At  this  mo-  presence.  Alice,  fakt  and  weary,  had  fallen  asleep  immediately 
.aas,.  ment  a  fish  leapt  upward,  and  fell  back  with  a  long,  heavy  plash.  !j  upon  the  spreading  oi  the  skins  for  the  night ;  Margaret,  half  reclin- 

She  grasped  the  arm  of  the  chief,  wild  with  terror.  j !  ing,  was  beholding  the  moon,  over  which  thin  clouds  were  spreading 

Tongatou  shook  her  off  fiercely.     "  The  pale  girl  has  nothing  to  j  a  veil  of  gossamer.     Tongatou  regarded  her  long  in  silence,  and  then 

fear,  while  the  Swaying  Reed  shelters  her."  !  i  he  seated  himself  at  her  side,  and  addressed  her. 

Margaret's  native  energy  came  to  her  assistance,  for  she  saw  that  j :     "  Will  the  Swaying  Reed  remain  with  her  people  1    She  will  bring 

the  generous  youth  in  his  heart  despised  the   helpless  timidity  of ,' light  to  any  cabin." 

Alice,  natural  as  it  was    and  condemned  her  for  being,  though  un-  j  j     Margaret  fixed  her  eyes  sternly  upon  him. 

conscious  of  the  lact,  the  cause  of  her  own  destruction.     She  there- 

fore  put  her  arm  about  her  waist,  and  placed  the  skins  to  shelter 

her  with  the  tenderness  of  a  mother ;  and  then  took  one  of  the  pad 
dles  to  assist  in  propelling  the  boat.     Alice  shuddered  to  contemplate 

the  gloom  of  the  young  chief,  as  the  bright  star  light  revealed  his 

face  ;  and  there  was  something,  too,  appalling  in  the  still  pale  face 


"  Does  the  chief  think  there  is  no  truth  in  the  heart  of  the  white 
maiden  1  The  Swaying  Reed  belongs  now,  Beithcr  to  the  white 
dor  the  red  people.  She  is  given  to  the  great  Spirit." 

"  Tongatou  will  not  counsel  the  maiden,  he  knoweth  her  wisdom. 
When  Tecumseh  shall  return,  his  cabin  will  be  desolate.  If  it  be 


of  Margaret.  Hour  after  hour,  Alice  looked  upon  her,  and  she  re-  the  wil1  of  the  swaying  Reed,  her  red  brother  will  bear  her  away  to 
mained  the  same,  with  her  passionless  brow,  and  sad,  sweet  mouth,  I  the  valle>'  of  the  great  river>  and  build  her  wigwam  where  none  shall 
bending  her  slight  form  mechanically  to  the  dip  of  the  oar.  At  find  il  but  Tecumseh.  No  evil  shall  come  upon  her,  for  Tongatou 
length,  Tongatou  took  the  paddle  from  her  hands;  she  resigned  it  , wil1  8uard  h  niSht  and  dav>  and  she  sha11  dwell  ii  peace.  Why 
passively,  and,  as  he  motioned,  she  placed  herself  at  the  side  of  ;sl)ould  blo°d  dr«wn  the  melody  of  the  SwayingReed!  Let  the  bios- 
Alice.  She  seemed  chilled  to  the  heart,  but  spoke  not,  and  scarcely  !  soms  gather  about  her  nest>  and  the  sunshine  rest  upon  it." 
breathed.  Alice  was  certain  she  did  not  sleep,  for  when  the  morn-  j  Margaret  listened,  smiling  faiatly,  and  as  her  eye  wandered  ever 
ing  blushed  in  the  melody  of  light,  and  a  response  burst  from  bird  ; ;  earth  and  sky,  their  beauty  came  again  with  a  new  love  to  her  breast. 


and  blossom,  she  remained  the  same — cold  and  motionless. 


j  ]  The  sylvan  lodge  with  its  rest  and  security,  seemed  a  pleasant  vision 


All  day  the  canoe  moved  onward,  now  in  the  shadow  of  dense  for-  j  i to  her  eye>  and  sPoke  in  tones  of  appeal.  Then  came  that  strange 
ests,  and  now  by  the  side  of  the  prairie,  where  vine  and  blossom  bent  !  clil)8ing  to  life«  which  even  age>  with  its  withered  hopes,  is  known 
over  to  the  refreshing  waters— a  wilderness  of  beauty.  Blossoms  ! '  to  feel  '•  how  much  stronger  then  (he  young  and  the  trusting  !  But  a 
beautiful— most  beautiful  creations  of  the  Eternal!  How  the  heart  ex- !  deePer  and  holier  principle  reigned  in  the  heart  of  the  lone  girl, 
pands  with  delight  at  beholding  ye,  and  the  lips  unconsciously  utter  |  •  teachlDg  her  that  truth  1S  holier>  and  more  to  be  souJJht  than  reP°se 
the  language  of  thankfulness.  Surely — surely  the  Creator  must  de 
light  in  the  beautiful,  for  everywhere,  on  earth,  sea,  and  sky,  hath  • 


He  affixed  its  impress;  and  then,  that  man  might  share  in  his  beati- 


or  even  life  itself.     When  at  length  she  replied  to  the  youth,  it  was 
I  with  a  strong  and  holy  purpose  of  heart. 

I     "The  Swaying  Reed,  has  learned  to  look  away  from  the  sunshine 

tude,  he  hath  indued  him  with  this  most  ennobling  and  joy-imparting  of  earth,  and  find  her  delight  in  thoughts  of  the  spirit  land.  The 
faculty.  They  are  the  joy  and  the  mystery  of  childhood ;  and  blessed  ,  'sound  of  many  voices  ccmeth  to  her  ear,  and  they  tell  of  rest  and 
are  they  who,  ia  their  meekness  and  purity,  suffer  no  '  glory  to  de- ',  blessedness  where  the  storm  or  shadow  cometh  not.  They  tell  of 
part  from  the  earth  !'  Blessed  creatures !  ye  toil  not,  neither  do  ye  j  i stars  in  their  myriads  and  glory,  and  of  skies  unbounded  reposing  in 
spin  ;  and  yet  who  shall  be  like  ye  in  glory  1  Ye  minister  not  to  the  j  Wueness  and  beauty.  I  float  away  in  a  wilderness  of  blue ;  there  is 
base  wants  of  the  body  ;  your  mission  is  to  the  soul — to  the  higher  delight  in  motion,  in  existence,  for  the  soul  is  unshackled  in  its  flight, 
inward  sense,  to  be  expanded  hereafter.  Children  of  the  desert !  of ']  Tne  same  voice  tnat  sPoke  l°  Tecumseh  of  war  and  disaster,  spoke 
else  waste  and  desolate  places,  ye  appear  to  glad  the  eyes  of  the  invi-  j  a'so  to  tbe  ear  °f tne  Swaying  Reed.  The  spirit-bird  that  sacg  upon 
sibles ;  and,  if  perchance  man  goeth  forth,  how  doth  tears  gush  to  his  tne  ro°f>  was  sent  to  w*rn  her  of  her  fate.  Why  should  she  seek  to 


eyes  at  beholding  thus  the  foot-prints  of  infinite  benevolence  !  Meek 
dwellers  of  the  rocks !  ye  cling  confidingly  to  the  rugged  bosom,  con 
tent  with  the  tears  of  the  morning,  and  its  first  blush  of  light.  Ye 


shun  it  1  She  may  not  now,  for  her  pledge  is  given  to  the  Almighty. 
|  She  is  ready  to  depart.  It  will  be  death  only,  be  the  mode  what  it 
j  may,  and  why  should  she  shrink  therefrom  1  The  Swaying  Reed 


are  content  whether  the  rain  or  the  sunshine  be  upon  ye,  happy  in  jmust  die.     She  would  not  escape,  and  for  the  sake  of  a  few  longer 
the  blessings  of  existence.     The  vale  and  the  mountain,  the  pure  'draughts  of  air,  carry  herself  about  a  living  lie !     No:  it  were  daily 
water,  and  the  dim  forest,  have  each  their  beautiful  dwellers ;  for  by    death !" 
them  do  the  angels  record  upon  earth  the   presence  of  gentle  and  ! !     She  turned  to  the  face  of  the  sleeping  Alice,  and  it  may  be,  wished 


holy  hearts,  made  manifest  by  the  flowers  upon  its  bosom. 

Often  as  the  canoe  approached  an  opening  in  the  forest,  making 


that  hers  had   been  a  like  nature  to  weep  and  smile,  and  slumber 
in  forgetfulness;  to  hold  out  the  hands  for  support  from  others,  rather 


way  for  the  passage  of  a  stream  scarcely  visible,  except  by  its  long  than  rdy  uPon  herself  '  to  yield  to  circumstances,  rather  than  shape 
trail  of  verdure,  herds  of  startled  deer  appeared  in  the  distance,  re  '  out  her  own  destiny-  But  such  had  not  been  the  character  of  her 
treating  to  the  woods,  or  off  over  the  prairie.  The  practised  eye  of  |SOu1'  and  suffering  and  trial  had  been  proportioned  to  the  strength  of 
the  youth  detected  the  nature  of  the  country,  and  the  doublings  of  ner  endurance. 

the  stream,  and  when  to  bear  the  canoe  across  portages  of  perhaps  a  i  "  Tongatou,"  she  resumed,  "  I  feel  upon  me  the  shadows  of  another 
half-mile,  thus  to  avoid  a  circuit  of  many.  It  was  a  long,  dreary  world.  I  feel  its  vastness,  its  infinite  silence.  While  I  listen  with 
route  to  one  like  Alice,  to  whom  the  grandeur,  the  silence,  and  wild  jiawe  to  that  eternil  hush,  faint  low  music  cometh  to  my  ear, 
solitudes  of  wood  and  mountain,  brought  only  images  of  gloom  and  !  now  heard,  and  now  lost,  like  the  far-off  notes  of  the  night  bird. 
apprehension.  Nothing  relieved  the  native  taciturnity  of  Tonga-  j!  Alice  talks  of  spirits  in  that  land  of  shadows,  of  companionship,  and 
tou,  and  a  calm,  settled  melancholy  rested  upon  the  face  of  Marga-  i>  l°ve  5  but  as  f°r  me,  I  have  striven  to  penetrate  its  mysteries,  almost 
ret.  She  was  gentle  exceedingly  ;  and  more  than  once,  when  Alice  in  despair.  I  cannot  believe  because  others  believe.  I  must  feel  it 
looked  up,  she  perceived  the  eyes  of  her  sister  fixed  tearfully  upon  Jin  rny  own  soul.  The  blossom  appears  and  dies;  another  comes  in 
her  ;  and  when  she  would  have  spoken,  and  asked  her  why,  Marga-  '  its  place,  but  the  same  one  appears  HO  more.  Is  it  so  with  us  1 
ret  smiled  faintly,  and  motioned  h»,r  to  silence.  Others  come  where  we  have  been,  and  shall  we  appear  in  another 

land  1    O,  Tongatou,  these  are  great  mysteries:  I  am  willing  to  die 
that  I  may  understand   them.     Alice  reads  the  Book  of  our  faith, 
that  tells  us  we  may  live  for  ever  ;  and  she  never  doubts.     I  have 
been  away  from   its  pages,  and  must  find  the  assurance  elsewhere  . 
Oar  people  *11  believe  in  a  Great  Spirit  ;  in  a  life  after  death.     Ton- 
ga'ou,  it  is  the  voice  of  the  Great  Spirit,  speaking  in  the  heart  he 
IT  was  now  the  third  mght  of  their  journey,  and  they  had  not  as  I  nas  made.     It  is  the  callir-g  of  spirit  to  spirit.     If  there  were  nothing 
yet  encountered  a  human  being.     More  than  once  a  thin  colymn  of    L 

bd'eVe'  ^ 
Toniatou>  I 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
Are  we  not  exiles  here  ? 

Come  there  not  o'er  us  memories  of  a  clime 
More  genial  and  more  dear, 

Than  this  of  time?— TUCKEEMANN. 


h"6 


smoke  betokened  the  presence  of  the  hunter  or  the  poneer    but  * 

such  times  they  meved  on   in  silence,  nor  struck  a  fire,  or'Bhet  an  ilCaUSe  WC  haV6  8°  l°  d°J  "  IS  °ur  nature' 


arrow,  till  the  indication  became  lost  in  the  distance.     It  was  one  of 


fear  not  to  die  by  thy  people,  and  there  may  be  virtue  in  it,  since  it 


these  quiet,  beautiful  nights,  when  the  heart  seems  to  feel  the  pre-  <  wil1  save  Alice,  and  may  bring  good  to  the  tribes.     It  is  a  small  thing 

sence  of  the  Eternal  visible  in  his  creations,  and  we  are  led  uncon- !  to  die,  and  live  again— to  sleep  and  awake." 

sciously  to  speculate  upon  what  we  are,  and  what  we  may  be,  when  1 1     The  youth  looked  in  the  face  of  the  inspired  girl,  and  though  he 


CAPTIVE. 


THE    NEW    WORLD. 


33 


but  dimly  comprehended  what  she  had  said,  yet  the  best  impulses  of 
his  nature  had  been  awakened,  and  the  tears  came  to  his  eyep. 

"Tongatou  feels,  that  the  Great  Spirit  hath  talked  with  the  Swaying 
Reed,  and  lold  her  of  the  land  of  spirits.  He  will  think  more  of  it 
now,  and  when  the  Swaying  Reed  shall  be  there,  will  she  not  some 
times  come  and  sit  upon  the  the  roof  of  Tongatou,  and  sing  of.  the 
spirit  land  1  He  shall  remember  her  voice  forever,  and  her  music 
will  sink  into  his  heart.  He  will  know  even  in  the  spirit-bi.-:',  the 
voice  and  the  eyes  of  the  Swaying  Reed." 

"  Alas !"  said  Margaret,  "  1  know  not  aught  that  shall  be  hereafter, 
but  I  can  never  cease  to  love  all  that  is  generous  and  good  in  the 
heart  of  my  red  brother.  Methinks,  I  hear  in  my  heart  the  utterance 
of  the  Great  Spirit;  let  us  commune  with  him  !" 

She  folded  her  hands  upon  her  bosom,  and  remained  long  in  silent 
meditation.  Tongatou  sat  with  his  eyes  fixed,  as  if  striving  to  pene 
trate  those  mysteiies  cf  which  she  had  spoken. 

Margaret  fearlessly  slept  by  the  side  of  Alice,  and  the  youth  con 
tinued  his  watching  till  the  young  dawn  awoke  them  to  another  day's 
journey.  They  had  rested  upon  a  point  of  land  projecting  deeply  into 
the  water,  covered  with  birch,  sycamore  and  other  hard-wood  trees, 
and  the  morning  awakened  the  grove  to  one  universal  gush  of  melody. 
la  the  shoals  of  the  river  the  patient  heron  waited  motionless  for  its 
prey,  and  the  wild  duck  trimmed  its  plumes  and  swam  at  ease  upon 
its  bosom.  The  air  was  warm  and  quiet,  the  shadows  from  beneath 
looking  as  distinct  as  objects  above.  It  was  a  sweet  secluded  spot, 
and  the  waking  of  inanimate  nature  in  this  little  dell,  was  like  the 
unclosing  of  an  infant's  lid,  while  the  smile  of  its  angel  dreams  is 
yet  lingering  about  its  moHth. 

Tongatou  addressed  a  few  words  to  the  ear  of  Margaret,  to  which 
she  seemed  to  assent,  for  he  concealed  the  canoe  in  the  thicket,  and 
proceeded  upon  a  route  diverging  somewhat  from  the  direction  of 
their  course.  Alice  perceived  it  and  demanded  the  cause. 

"  The  red  man  must  do  honor  to  the  graves  of  his  fathers,"  replied 
Margaret. 

She  would  have  remonstrated,  but  the  very  looks  of  Margaret  were 
of  a  kind  to  command,  and  acquiescence  had  become  habitual  to  the 
timid  sister.  She  walked  on  by  the  side  of  her  companion,  till  wea 
riness  compelled  her  pause ;  while  they  took  some  refreshment,  she 
observed  the  chief  examinin  the  ground  before  them  with  great 
scrutiny.  She  became  alarmed.  "  We  have  struck  upon  a  trail," 
explained  Margaret,  "  and  Tongatou  is  trying  to  learn  what  has  pre 
ceded  us." 

Toagatou  returned,  and  informed  them  that  the  same  path  had 
been  travelled  by  two  upon  horseback,  and  each  led  a  horse. 

"Are  they  red  or  white  men  V  asked  Margaret. 

"  One  is  a  white." 

"How  have  you  learned  all  thisl"  said  Alice,  surprised  at  the 
minuteness  of  the  detail. 

"I  know  that  two  of  the  horses  are  unbridled,  for  they  have 
browsed  upon  the  herbage  in  passing.  One  of  the  men  is  white ; 
for,  where  he  had  alighted,  [foot  was  turned  outward:  he  is 
young ;  for  his  step  is  long  and  firmly  set." 

The  celor  came  to  the  cheek  of  Alice,  as  the  possibility  occurred 
to  her,  that  Henry  Mansfield  might  be  on  his  way  to  restore  them  to 
their  friends.  Impressed  with  the  idea,  she  followed  her  companions 
with  a  Quicker  pace,  and  with  something  of  her  former  vivacity. 
Hope  suggested  a  thousand  pleasant  images,  and  lent  a  new  beauty 
to  the  objects  around  her.  The  green  wood  became  greener,  and 
the  blossom  brighter  in  her  pathway. 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
I  look  around  and  f-  el  the  awe 

Of  one,  who  walks  alone 
Among  the  wrecks  of  former  days, 

In  dismal  ruin  strown  ; 
I  start  to  hear  the  stirring  sounds 

From  the  leav  es  of  withered  trees ; 
For  the  voice  of  the  departed 

Seems  borne  upon  the  breeze.— PARK  BCMAMIH. 

ALL  day  they  pursued  their  journey  -.  sometimes  in  the  direction 
of  the  trail,  aad  then  again  divergent.     As  night  approached,  th 
left  it  nearly  at  right-angles.     The  moon  was  sending  down  h. 
beams  of  silver  beauty,  lighting  the  shimmering  woods,  when 
guide  carae  to  a  halt  in  the  vicinity  of  a  mound  of  earth,  raise 
the  midst  of  the  forest.     It  was  nearly  circular  in  its  form,  ane 
considerable  extent,  and  in  many  parts  covered  with  trees  < 
size.     An  occasional  projection  indicated  parts  of  a  more  r 
construction,  and  suggested  that  these  slight  deviations  fron 


designed  figure,  were  but  temporary,  and  in  time  to  be  removed. 
The  turf  was  smooth  and  green,  and  the  mound — standing  in  the 
midst  of  a  wide  level  extent  of  country,  with  no  other  elevation  for 
miles  about,  surrounded  by  a  dense  forest— suggested  imprestions  of 
everence  and  grandeur.  The  very  spirit  of  bilence  seemed  to  brood 
over  this  venerable  relic  of  a  bygone  and  forgotten  ae;e.  The 
moon  lay  upon  its  summit,  and  dense,  heavy  masses  of  thadow  lay 
it  its  base.  If  a  strapgling  wind  found  itself  in  this  solitary  vale,  it 
pt  hushingly  beneath  the  pendant  leaf,  and  over  th*  sighing  grass, 
o  free  itself  with  its  gay  fellows,  sporting  by  the  river  brink. 

The  three  stood  together,  looking  in  mute  awe  upon  this  record  of 
ob;curi(y,  when  all  at  once  a  fbod  of  melody  broke  forth  from  th« 
branches  above,  so  full  a,.  1  lh(  -,!  J,  so  like  the  gushing  forth  of  all 
sweet  and  sorrowful  harmonic?,  that  it  might  have  passed  (or  the 
conjoined  griefs  and  blessedness  of  all  thit  slept  beneath  ;  who  had 
once  lived  and  sorrowed,  rejoiced  and  wept,  and  passed  away  where 
ears  are  no  more.  Awhile,  the  melody  ceased  ;  silence  rested  as 
before  upon  them  ;  the  moon  looked  forth  in  her  brightness,  and  then 
veiled  her  face  in  silvery  clouds,  and  again  burst  forth  that  gush  of 
strange  sad  music. 

Alice  clung  to  the  arm  of  Margaret,  for  the  stillness  of  the  night, 
the  solitude,  and  that  wild  gush  of  melody  filled  her  with  awe, 
amounting  to  terror. 

"  It  is  the  spirit-bird,"  whispered  Margaret,  solemnly ;  "  it  singeth 
ever  by  the  sepulchres  of  the  tribes.  It  sang  three  nights  upon  our 
roof.  I  knew  its  voice  of  warning." 

Alice  shuddered  ;  for  the  whites  had  imbibed  the  same  superstition, 
and  she  knew  it  ominous  of  death. 

At  this  moment,  Tongatou  threw  his  hands  upward,  and  bending 
to  the  monument  in  an  attitude  of  grief,  began  to  chant  in  measured 
tones.  Margaret  placed  herself  by  his  side,  keeping  time  to  the 
dirge-like  burden. 

"  The  bones  of  the  red  man  are  on  every  side.  They  lie  in  the 
deep  woods ;  they  sleep  to  the  sound  of  many  waters.  They  that 
perish  in  battle,  sleep  together,  forgetful  of  the  strife.  The  grass  is 
areen  upon  them,  and  the  trees  of  a  thousand  suns  spring  from 
their  ashes.  The  land  is  rich  with  their  blood  ;  it  heaveth  with  theii 
bones.  Where  shall  we  go,  and  our  fathers  sleep  not  with  us  1  The 
tree  that  shelters  the  warrior  in  battle,  sheltered  old  meu  before  him. 
The  hunter  in  the  chase  treadeth  in  the  trail  of  the  hunter  a  thousand 

years  ago. 

"  Alas,  alas,  for  the  dead ! 
Alas,  for  those  that  go  to  the  spirit-land  ! 
Do  they  know  of  the  deeds  of  brave  men  1 
Do  they  delight  in  the  glory  of  iheir  children  t 
Do  they  know  when  we  weep  over  their  bones  7" 

The  last  sentences  were  prolonged  to  a  wail,  that  mingled  withths 
music  of  the  bird,  and  swelled  low  and  sadly  upon  the  night  air.  It 
died  away,  and  was  renewed  in  plaintive  cadences: 

"  Alas,  for  them  that  go  to  the  spirit-land  ! 
They  heed  not  the  fame  of  their  children  : 
Sorro.v  cemeth  to  them,  and  they  know  it  not : 
We  come  to  them,  and  they  know  it  not ; 
We  call  up»n  them,  and  they  answer  not : 
Come— come !  we  call  upon  ye,  spirits  of  the  dead." 

Alice  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  for  a  long  pause  succeeded 
the  invocation  ;  and  on  the  misty  canopy  above,  in  the  midst  of  the 
dim  trees,  and  hovering  over  that  solitary  mound,  seemed  to  her 
xcited  fancy  to  assemble  the  warriors  of  other  days,  fierce  in 
the  panoply  of  war;  wielding  spear  and  batile-axe.  guarded  by 
corslet  and  shield,  with  towering  plume  and  radiant  crest.  Dimly 
and  mistily  they  thronged  in  the  still  night,  and  fought  again  the 
battles  of  heroes.  Overcome  with  awe,  she  threw  her  arms  about 
the  neck  of  Margaret,  and  implored  her  to  leave  a  place  so  awful 

"Behold    it  is  deep  midnight!"  said  Margaret,  huskily;  "spea 
not,  for  we  are  in  the  midst  of  the  dead  !"  and  then,  as  il  continuing 
the  chant,  she  went  on  : 

"  Hark  to  the  voices  of  the  dead  '. 

The  tones  from  the  spirit -land  ; 

They  come  from  the  dim  sepulchre, 

From  the  old  and  shadowy  wo«d ; 

They  come  from  the  pale  star*  : 

On  the  cloudy  cars  of  the  wind 

We  behold  the  dead  of  a  thousand  year* ! 

They  come  lik«  the  gather.ng  mill  of  the  storm. 

Do  ye  behold  how  the  glory  hath  departed  from  your  children  1 
How  the  stranger  i.  here,  even  in  the  mid*  of  your  graves?     H 
(he  youth  have  forgotten  your  sepulchresi    We  weep,  ud  ye  know 
of  our  sorrow.     We  weep,  and  ye  point  to  the  spmt-land.    *e 


34 


THE    NEW    WORLD. 


THE  WESTERN 


come— for  rest  is  not  for  the  red  man— we  come  to  the  spirit-land." 
As  the  chant  proceeded,  they  began  to  slowly  circle  the  mound, 
aad  Alice  moved  with  them;  for  that  unearthly  bird— those  sepulchral 
notes,  uttered  at  the  hour  of  night,  in  the  midst  of  dimness  and 
shadow,  filled  her  with  unspeakable  fear.  As  the  group  moved 
onward,  the  barking  of  a  dog  at  no  great  distance,  thrilled  her  with 
delighted  relief— it  had  a  voice  to  remind  her  ef  human  presence— 
of  human  sympathies ;  and  the  misty  visions  of  the  mind  fled  be 
fore  it. 

Tongatou  laid  his  finger  upon  his  lips,  and  crept  silently  forward ; 
and  so  certain  was  Alice  that  relief  was  near  at  hand,  that,  notwith 
standing  her  companion  desired  she  should  remain  while  the  youth 
went  forward  to  see  from  whence  came  the  sound,  she  clung  to 
the  neck  of  Margaret,  and  insisted  that  they  should  follow.  A  slight 
turn  revealed,  at  n»  great  distance,  a  cloud  of  sparks  rising  in  the 
midst  of  the  branches,  flashing  and  soaring  upward,  till  they  went  out 
in  the  dense  blackness  above. 

A  rapid,  continuous  rattle,  like  the  shaking  of  pebbles  in  a  stifl 
parchment,  caused  them  to  recoil ;  for  there,  visible  by  the  flame 
before  them,  lay  coiled  an  immense  rattlesnake  ;  darting,  and  throw 
ing  itself  forward  with  wonderful  velocity,  in  search  of  its  prey.  A 
length,  recovering  itself,  it  remained  poised,  with  neck  towering 
from  ihe  midst  of  its  burnished  fokb;  its  jaws  distended,  its  glittering 
eyes  like  coals  of  flame,  and  its  head  oscillating  from  side  to  side 
To  the  terrified  eyes  of  Alice,  the  aspect  of  the  creature  ckanged 
with  every  vibration  of  its  body.  Now  it  was  a  heap  of  gems 
sparkling  and  heaving  in  the  moonbeams,  and  she  felt  an  irresistible 
desire  to  behold  them  nearer,  and  would  have  done  so,  but  that  the 
arm  of  Margaret  held  her  back.  Then  it  was  a  rainbow,  ceiling  and 
trailing  upon  the  earth  ;  anon  it  was  a  train  of  fire,  gleaming  and  qui 
vering,  and  endowed  with  vitality. 

Tongatou  began  to  address  it  with  great  earnestness,  assuring  i 
that  a  Shawonee  could  never  have  designed  to  doit  harm  ;  that  if  evi 
had  be«n  threatened,  it  was  unknown  to  them.  They  were  full  o 
reverence  for  the  guardian  manitou  of  the  tribe,  and  were  ready  t( 
do  anything  to  appease  his  anger.  As  the  adjuration  proceeded 
Alice  beheld  the  huge  reptile  lay  itself  down,  its  gray  hue  returnee 
»nd  she  now  saw  that  another  of  the  same  species  lay  dead  beside  it 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
— The  moon's  cold  light,  as  it  lay  that  night 

On  the  hill  Side  and  the  sea, 
Still  lies  whore  hs  laid  his  houseless  head  : 

But  the  pilgrim— where  is  he  ?— PIFRPOST. 

TOJVGATOU  now  crept  with  the  stealthy  tread  of  a  panther,  in  th 
direction  in  which  the  fire  appeared.  Margaret  would  have  re 
mained,  waiting  his  return,  but  so  much  did  the  terrors  of  their  siti 
ation  grow  upon  the  mind  of  Alice,  that  she  determined  to  follo\ 
him.  They  had  accomplished  nearly  half  their  distance  withou 
alarm,  when  the  snapping  of  a  twig  beneath  the  foot  of  Alice  arouse 
the  vigilance  of  the  dog,  and  he  rushed  forward,  barking  furiousl 
A  moment  more  and  two  men  appeared,  with  arms  presented,  stri. 
ing  to  penetrate  the  darkness  around,  to  learn  the  cause  of  the  alarm 
Alice  uttered  a  loud  shriek,  and  fell  fainting  into  the  arms  of  Ma 
garet. 

The  strangers  approached,  and  Henry  Mansfield  folded  the  insens 
ble  Alice  to  his  h«art.  Bearing  her  to  the  light,  he  marked  wi 
painful  emotions  the  changes  which  care  and  sorrow  had  wrought 
her  sweet  face.  Mr.  Mason  sunk  upon  his  knees  and  re  turned  than! 
with  a  gush  of  tears.  Then  turning  to  Margaret,  he  would  have  la 
his  hand  upon  her  head  in  paternal  benediction,  but  she  shrank  prou 
ly  back,  and  he  only  added, 

"  Bless  the  Lord,  O  maiden,  that  thou  hast  been  taken  from  th 
horrible  pit  and  the  miry  clay." 

No  sooner  had  Tongatou  found  the  strangers  were  the  friends 
Al.ce,  than  he  threw  himself  upon  the  earth,  and  was  soon  buried  t 
profound  slumber;  the  more  welcome,  that  it  was  the  first  he  had  i. 
duiged  since  their  escape  from  the  village. 

Many  were  the  inquiries  of  Alice  as  to  the  welfare  of  the  litt! 
family  and  she  listened  to  the  recital  of  their  fears  and  anxieties  o 
her  beha  f,  with .smiles  and  tears,  At  every  proof  of  tenderness,  an 
every  effort  mada  to  rescue  her,  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes,  and  th 
most  touchmg  acknowledgments  fell  from  her  lips.  FoLanyhour 
ie  rest  of  the  group  were  buried  in  sleep,  the  quiet  tones 

££'  lts\llk; a  wandering  note  *f  ™ic> <he  *S 

o  sh eft     her    1     "fl-™  ^  "^  ^^  the  thickr°be 
ier  placed I  his  arm  around  her  waist,  and  laid  her  chee 

upon  his  shoulder.     Though  exhausted  with  travel,  she  felt  too  muc 


f  happiness  while  again  listening  to  the  language  of  affection  and 
ympathy  to  admit  of  slumber.  She  wept  as  the  youth  recited  his 
nxieties  and  efforts  to  relieve  her,  and  the  long  months  of  suspense, 
mounting  to  agony,  relieved  only  by  the  assurance  from  some  pass- 
ng  Indian,  that  she  was  well.  Then  she  wept  again,  as  she  related 
er  own  sorrows  ;  and  when  the  youth  tenderly  kissed  them  away, 
er  tears  were  renewed,  for  suffering  had  converted  her  to  a  very 
hild.  When,  at  length,  she  lay  down  by  the  side  of  Margaret,  it  is 
o  wonder  if  the  youth  stole  a  look  at  her  pale  face,  and  impressed  a 
iss  upon  the  pure  brow;  for  he  was  left  to  guard  the  sleep  of  the 
.ttle  party  in  that  wild,  solitary  wood. 

The  arrow  of  Tc.ngatou  furnished  the  morning  repast,  and  when  it 
was  over,  Mr.  Mason,  in  accordance  with  his  invariable  custom,  ut- 
ered  a  fervent  and  heart-felt  prayer.  There  was  something  touchiag 
n  the  performance  of  the  duty  in  the  midst  of  those  old  solitudes ;  the 
deep  and  reverential  voice  blending  its  homage  of  praise  with  that 
of  the  free  bird;  and  the  green  earth  waked  from  its  peiiod  of  repose. 
It  was  resolved  to  remain  through  th  day,  and  another  night  in 
the  woods,  for  the  sake  of  rest ;  and  Tongatou  no  sooner  learned  the 
determination,  than  he  again  disposed  himself  to  slumber — for  the 
precarious  life  of  the  savage,  subjecting  him  often  to  protracted 
watchings,  likewise  enables  him  to  indulge  in  long  intervals  ot  sleep, 
thereby  preserving  the  equilibrium. 

Mr.  Mason  regarded  the  cold  and  haugkty  bearing  of  Margaret  with 
sorrowful  displeasure.  Her  demi-savage  dress,  too,  shocked  him  as 
something  heathenish,  and  allied  to  the  children  of  Belial ;  to  say 
nothing  of  its  outrage  upon  his  sense  of  propriety.  The  indolent 
grace  of  the  beautiful  girl,  as  she  reclined,  wrapt  in  her  own  medita 
tions,  taking  no  note  of  those  about  her,  seemed  but  anillrequitance 
for  the  labor  expended  in  her  behalf.  More  than  once  he  attempted 
to  address  her,  but  the  awe  she  inspired  made  him  at  a  loss  how  to 
begin.  The  more  he  regarded  her,  the  more  was  he  impressed  with 
the  urgency  of  his  duty  to  enlighten  her  as  to  those  doctrines  of  which 
he  believed  her  ignorant.  In  his  own  mind  he  could  not  entirely 
exculpate  Alice  from  blame,  in  sufferieg  her  to  remain  so  ;  and  he 
resolved,  on  their  return,  to  place  her  offence  strongly  before  her ;  for, 
though  kind  and  cheerful  to  the  last  degree,  in  his  daily  life,  he  could 
not  tolerate  the  least  omission  in  religious  observance  ;  and  here,  if 
anywhere,  rested  a  shadow  of  severity. 

Seating  himself  beside  her,  he  waited  in  vain  for  some  token  of 
consciousness  on  the  part  of  Margaret,  that  he  was  present ;  but  she, 
neither  by  look  or  motion,  gave  him  leave  to  address  her. 

"  Daughter,"  at  length  said  Mr.  Mason,  "  I  perceive  that  thou  art 
still  in  the  gall  of  bitterness  and  the  bond  of  iniquity." 

Margaret  turned  her  penetrating  eyes  full  upon  him,  and  read 
searchingly  his  face.  Mr.  Mason  was  abashed,  and  colored  slightly, 
but  in  the  way  of  duty  he  was  not  easily  daunted,  and  he  went  on, 
though  his  voice  was  certainly  louder  and  more  determined  than  the 
occasion  would  seem  to  require. 

"  Daughter,  wo  is  thee,  that  thou  hast  sojourned  in  Meshak,  that 
thou  hast  dwelt  in  the  tents  of  Kedesh ;  thou  hast  burned  incense 
under  every  green  tree,  and  upon  every  high  hill ;  and  thou  hast  for 
gotten  the  heritage  of  Israel.  Thou  hast  bowed  down  unto  strange 
gods,  and  hast  forgotten  the  Lord,  the  righteous.  Thou  hast  forsaken 
the  guide  of  thy  youth,  who  would  have  led  thee  to  green  pastures 
and  beside  the  still  waters.  Return,  outcast  daughter  of  Zion,  for 
behold  the  Spirit  and  the  bride  say  come,  and  let  him  that  is  athirst 
come,  and  whosoever  will,  let  him  come  and  partake  of  the  water 
of  life  freely." 

While  he  thus  addressed  her  in  the  inspired  language  of  scripture, 
Margaret  listened  as  to  remembered  music  ;  but  when  he  added,  "  I 
know  thy  pride  and  the  naughtiness  of  thy  heart,  and  that  thou  wilt 
rather  eat  chaff  with  the  swine  than  return  to  thy  father's  house, 
where  is  wine  and  oil,  and  bread  enough  and  to  spare :  "  her  eyes 
flashed,  and  she  half-  arose  from  her  seat ;  but  impelled  perhaps  by 
awakened  curiosity,  she  again  sunk  back  upon  the  heaped  up  leaves. 
Mr.  Mason  went  on. 

"Let  me  hear  thee  cry,  'Lord,  thou  art  the  guide  of  my  youth.' 
Let  me  see  thee  cast  thy  idols  to  the  moles  and  the  bats,  and  these 
garments,  which  are  the  filthy  rags  of  heathenism,  cast  aside  for  the 
more  seemly  robes  of  a  Christian  maiden.  Let  me  see  thee  clad  ia 
the  garments  of  righteousness,  and  adorned  with  a  weak  and  quiet 
spirit,  and  prostrate  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  cry  mightily  on  the  Lord, 
thy  Saviour.  Yea,  cast  thyself  down,  for  I  perceive  thy  spirit  is  full 
of  all  pride,  and  wrath  and  bitterness." 

Margaret  arose  proudly  from  her  seat,  and  motioning  that  none 
should  follow,  was  soon  lost  in  the  thick  woods.  It  was  many 


CAPTIVE. 


THE     NEW     WORLD 


35 


hours  before  she  returned,  and  when  she  did  so,  her  cheek  was  pde 
and  her  eyes  swollen  with  weeping. 

The  next  morning,  when  the  first  tinge  of  light  broke  upon  the 
forest,  ere  the  bird  had  lifted  its  wing  or  shook  a  drop  of  dew  fromi 
its  nest ;  Tongatou,  who  had  watched  through  the  night,  awoke 
Margaret  from  her  slumbers.  She  arose,  and  gazed  long  and  ear 
nestly  in  the  face  of  Alice,  with  hands  clasped  and  the  tears  stream 
ing  from  her  eyes.  Long — long  memoriaa  were  awakened  ;  their 
childhood,  their  crue!  separation  and  last  meeting,  with  dissevered 
sympathies,  secret  sorrows,  hopes,  fears  and  perils.  Alice  must  ne 
ver  know  the  horrors  of  her  death,  never  know  what  she  herself  had 
escaped.  This  reflection  imparted  a  degree  of  firmness,  and  she 
turned  away,  denying  herself  a  last  embrace — a  last  farewell.  She 
had  proceeded  but  few  paces,  when  she  returned  and  gazed  in  mute 
tenderness  upon  the  sweet  face,  which  she  should  see  no  more  on 
earth.  Alice  stirred  slightly,  and  she  stooped  down  and  pressed  her 
hand  upan  her  side  hushingly,  as  a  mother  would  caress  the  restless-  i 
ness  of  a.  child;  she  bent  her  lips  to  her  cheek,  and  unconsciously' 
whispered,  "  Dear,  dear  sister !  may  the  Almighty  comfort  you." 
Alice  felt  a  tear  fall  upon  her  cheek,  and  she  started  wildly  up,  and 
grasped  ths  garment  of  Margaret — the  whole  truth  flashed  upon  her 
mind.  Wildly  she  clung  to  her  neck,  and  implored  her  to  remain.  ; 
"Alice,  it  cannot  be.  It  had  been  better  had  we  sever  met  again 
on  earth  ;  but  now  we  meet  no  more.  The  decree  has  gone  forth, 
and  we  part  for  ever!  Oh,  Alice,  when  you  think  of  me,  let  it  not 
be  with  anger  and  reproach,  as  of  one  whose  heart  was  cold  and 
dead,  and  who  loved  a  wild  life  better  than  she  loved  friend  and 
sister;  who  went  back  to  it  for  the  sake  of  her  Indian  lover,  to  dwell 
in  peace  in  a  forest  wigwam :  but  think  of  me  as  one  who  bore  a 
great  sorrow  at  her  heart;  and  yet  it  was  strong,  fearing  nothing 
however  terrble  ;  but  think  of  me,  Alice,  as  one  who  loved  you  bet 
ter  than  life  itself!" 

The  tenderness  of  this  appeal  was  too  much  for  the  exhausted 
powers  of  Alice,  and  she  fainted  upon  her  bosom.  Margaret  gently 
laid  her  upon  the  turf;  she  kissed  her  lips,  cheek,  and  brow,  held 
back  the  long  dark  hair  and  looked  into  the  pale  inanimate  face; 
gave  her  one  long,  last  kiss,  and  rising  mournfully  to  her  feet,  spread 
her  hands  one  moment  over  her,  as  if  in  blessing ;  waved  them 
toward  the  wondering  group,  and  plunged  into  the  dense  woods 
Mr.  Mason's  first  impulse  was  to  follow  in  pursuit ;  but  a  warning 
arrow  from  Tongatou  admonished  him  to  forbear. 

"Ths  Lord  be  praised,  that  I  warned  her  yesterday,"  he  ejacu 
lated;  "had  I  not  done  so,  I  had  been  as  a  faithless  watchman  on; 
the  citadel  of  Zion,  and  verily  the  blood  of  her  soul  had  been  found 
upon  the  skirts  of  my  garments.  Like  the  Israelites  of  old  she  re 
membered  the  garlics  and  flesh-pots  of  Egypt,  and  loathed  the  spi 
ritual  manna." 

By  the  aid  of  branches  of  the  trees,  covered  with  skins  and  sus 
pended  between  the  two  led  horses,  a  comfortable  litter  was  pre- 1 
pared,  on  which  was  borne  the  almost  lifeless  body  of  Alice.  It  was 
a  sad  journey  of  tears  and  hopeless  sorrow.  She  relt  as  if  all  her, 
labor  had  been  in  vain,  and  it  was  not  till  busy  recollection  brought : 
back  the  memory  of  the  growing  tenderness  of  Margaret,  and  the 
evident  enlightenment  of  her  religious  views,  that  she  could  find  one 
ray  of  consolation.  Then  she  remembered  her  request  that  the  Bi 
ble  should  remain,  and  wondered  that  she  had  not  before  suspected 
the  reason.  Then  would  come  the  conviction  that  Margaret  wasi 
lost,  lost  to  her  for  ever,  and  her  tears  flowed  afresh.  Now  that  she  i 
was  gone,  memory,  as  in  the  case  of  the  dead,  restored  all  the  noble, 
the  excellent  and  unselfish  nature  of  her  sister,  casting  upon  them 
the  bold  and  distinctive  light  of  another  world  ;  and  all  that  was  un 
lovely,  if  such  there  were,  retired  into  the  shadow  or  totally  disap 
peared.  When  she 'attempted  ta  recall  her  features  to  her  view,  j 
she  could  only  bring  back  the  beautiful  face,  beaming  with  that , 
last  look  of  tenderness,  and  the  radiant  eyes  suffused  with  tears. ; 
Then,  too,  the  presence  of  Mr.  Mason  had  awakened  many  point-:  of  j 
faith  into  vivid  distinctness,  which  had  become  partially  obscured , 
by  her  long  residence  in  the  wood?,  where  human  creeds  were  un 
dreamed  of.  Calling  to  Mr.  Mason,  she  hinted  her  fears  that  she  j 
had  not  been  at  sufficient  pains  to  ascertain  the  true  s'ate  of  her, 
sister. 

"  I  fear  so  loo,"  said  Mr.  Mason,  with  a  severity  unusual  to  him, ' 
and  which  brought  a  frown  upon  the  brow  of  Mansfield.  "  I  fear  so 
too  ;  for  I  found  in  her  little  of  the  meekness  that  should  become  a 
believer  in  the  meek  and  lowly  Jesus.  But  if  you  have  clearly  ( 
pointed  out  the  true  way,  and  she  refuses  to  follow  it,  the  conse- 
quences  of  rejection  must  rest  upon  her  own  head ;  you  are  free  from 
all  blame  in  this  matter.  But  if — " 


"Alas!"  said  Alice,  "she  was  so  full  of  lofty  thought,  and  a 
strange  exalted  religion,  that  I  could  never  talk  with  her.  She  was 
the  teacher,  not  I." 

Mr.  Mason  scrutinized  her  countenance  suspiciously — "  I  ehould 
be  sorry  to  feel,  Alice,  that  thou  art  straying  from  the  flock.  Thou 
art  but  a  tender  lamb,  and  must  be  carried  in  the  bosom  of  the  good 
shepherd.  Rem-mber,  th»t  he  who  putteth  his  hand  to  the  plough 
and  looketh  back,  is  not  fit  for  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

Mr.  Mason  persisted  in  complet;ng  his  warning,  notwithstanding 
many  angry  shakes  of  the  head  on  the  part  of  Mansfield ;  and  Alice 
could  only  reply  with  her  tears,  tor  she  was  becoming  bewildered  in 
language  that  conveyed  to  her  but  little  of  definite  meaning.  From 
Margaret,  she  had  learned  to  take  a  more  elevated  and  comprehen 
sive  view  of  the  great  doctrines  of  human  faith  and  duty ;  aad  in  her 
present  debility  she  feared,  that  what  in  the  wilderness  had  appeared 
as  freedom  and  truth,  might  after  all  have  been  aothing  more  than 
delusion. 

When  the  little  party  wound  around  the  rude  road  cat  through  the 
forest  on  their  way  home,  Mrs.  Mason  was  standing  at  the  door,  evi 
dently  in  the  vague  hope  of  witnessing  their  return.  Little  Jimmy 
started  upon  a  full  run  to  meet  his  father,  and  Anna  caught  the 
baby  from  the  old  lady's  arms,  kissed  it  and  hurried  to  the  door ; 
then  in  again,  turning  round  and  round  in  the  bewilderment  of  her 
joy;  put  the  child  upon  the  floor,  and  then  rushed  from  the  house, 
and  throwing  her  arms  about  the  almost  unconscious  Alice,  bore  her 
like  an  infant  into  the  innei  room  and  laid  her  upon  her  own  bed. 
The  pale  hands  of  Alice  were  clasped  over  her  neck  and  they  w»pt 
together.  The  old  lady  stood  by  wiping  her  eyes  with  her  trembling 
hands,  and  then  putting  down  her  spectacles  to  gaze  upon  her  altered 
face,  and  elevating  them  again  to  the  border  of  her  cap  to  wipe 
away  her  tears.  Jimmy  began  to  scream  very  loudly,  and  the  baby 
joined  in  concert. 

A  refreshing  draught  was  now  prepared  by  Anna,  and  the  poor 
girl  was  left  to  repose. 

"  Where  is  Margaret  V  inquired  both  Anna  and  the  old  lady,  at  the 
first  moment  for  observation. 

Mr.  Mason  went  on  to  relate  the  whole  of  their  adventure  ia  the 
wood?,  together  with  what  he  had  otherwise  learned,  concerning 
Margaret,  from  the  lips  of  her  sister.  Upon  which  the  old  lady  re 
peated  in  full  the  history  of  Sam  Shaw,  with  suitable  comments,  to 
which  all  listened  with  the  utmost  kindness  and  apparent  interest, 
notwithstanding  they  had  heard  the  same  story,  and  the  same  con- 
i  elusions,  from  the  same  lips  at  least  fifty  times  before.  But  when  is 
ever  a  story  wearisome  to  benevolent  ears,  if  coming  from  the  lips  of 
a  child  in  the  budding  of  its  existence,  or  from  the  child  of  fourscore 
upon  whom  has  fallen  the  sear  and  the  yellow  leaf  of  human  life. 
She  turned  her  eyes  from  one  to  the  other  in  assurance  of  approval, 
and  when  her  subject  had  become  exhausted,  and  the  vanity  of 
earthly  expectations  pressed  home  to  her  heart,  she  laid  her  head 
against  the  high  back  of  her  .chair,  and  closing  her  eyes  began  to 

sing, 

"  How  vain  are  all  things  here  below  ! 

H  >w  false  and  yet  bow  fair ! 
Each  pleasure  hath  its  poison  too, 
And  every  sweet  a  snare." 

Many  were  the  weeks  of  severe  illness  that  followed  upon  the  re 
turn  of  Alice.  At  times  she  was  delirious,  and  her  sweet  and  tender 

\  appeals  to  Margaret,  in  which  she  implored  her  not  to  forsake  her, 
and  return  again  to  the  solitude  ef  the  wild  woods,  brought  tears  into 
the  eyes  of  all  present.  Then  she  renewed  the  terrors  and  perils  of 
their  flight  from  the  village,  and  that  long  wearisome  journey.  She 

;  would  deplore  her  own  want  of  strength  and  resolution,  and  wish 
that  like  Margaret  she  were  undaunted,  and  persevering.  At  length 
her  disease  yielded  to  the  faithful  nursing  of  Mrs.  Mason,  and  great 

Iwas  the  rejoicing,  when  she  was  able  te  be  seated  in  the  common 
room,  bolstered  u,>  in  the  old  lady's  great  arm-chair.  But  the  sub- 

iject  of  Margaret  was  one  to  call  up  the  most  painful  emotions,  and 

i  it  became  tacitly  interdicted  by  the  family. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

And  oh,  when  death  comes  in  terrors,  t*  ca«t 
His  fears  on  the  future,  his  pall  on  the  past  ; 
In  that  moment  of  darkness,  with  hope  in  thy  heart. 
And  a  smile  in  thine  eye,  "Lock  aloft,"  anJ  depart. 

J.  LAWRENCE. 

MARGARET,  accompanied  by  Tongatou,  travelled  on  in  silence  ; 
iher  hands  folded  and  drooping  before  her,  and  her  tall,  slender 
1  figure  realizing  painfully  her  Indian  cognomen  of  the  Swaying  Reed ; 


36 


THE  NEW  WORLD:. 


for  her  footsteps  were  languid  and  vascillating,  and  the  moved  me 
chanically  forward,  without  noticing  the  impediments  in  her  path 
•way.  Once,  when  they  h;d  come  to  a  small  brook,  that  babbled 
over  ita  rocky  bed,  its  pure  waters  sparkling  aad  flashing  in  the  sun 
shine  that  peered  through  the  dense  branches,  she  stopped  and  laved 
her  cheek  and  brew,  and  partook  of  its  refreshing  drops.  As  her 
own  colorless  cheek,  thin  and  worn,  met  her  eye,  she  said  mournfully 
to  her  companion  — 

"  The  Swaying  Reed  is  very  weary.  Would  that  she  might  lie 
down  in  the  great  woods,  and  pass  to  the  world  of  spirits.  Her  heart 
is  ead.  There  is  no  light  upon  her  path." 

Tongatou  wept.  "  Shall  Tongatou  paddle  his  canoe  down  to  the 
white  settlements  1  He  will  wear  the  moccasons  from  his  feet,  he 
will  follow  the  sun  behind  the  mountains  of  the  west,  and  forget  to 
eat  and  to  sleep,  if  he  may  bring  joy  to  the  heart  of  the  Swaying 
Reed." 

Margaret  looked  in  his  face,  and  tears  were  in  her  eyes. 

"  Tongatou  has  a  kind  heart ;  and  the  Great  Spirit  loves  it.  But 
the  sunshine  will  be  no  more  in  the  path  of  the  Swaying  Reed. 
"Would  she  were  at  rest;  for  she  is  very — very  weary." 

Tongatou  prepared  their  repast,  but  Margaret  was  too  ill  to  eat. 
She  lay  down  upon  the  earth,  and  a  heavy  sleep  gathered  upon  her. 
He  spread  the  skins  upon  the  heaped  leaves,  and  wove  together  the 
branches  of  the  trees  for  a  shelter ;  and  then  he  lifted  her  in  his  arms, 
and  placed  her  in  the  lodge.  Margaret  opened  her  eyes,  and  smiled 
faintly;  but  she  had  no  power  of  utterance. 

It  was  an  affecting  sight,  to  witness  that  rude  son  of  the  woods 
nursing  the  sick  girl  in  that  dreary  solitude  with  the  tenderness  of  a 
brother.  He  poured  water  upon  her  burning  temples,  and  held  the 
birchen  cup  to  her  parched  lips.  When  she  mourned  in  her  uneasy 
slumber,  he  soothed  her  as  a  mother  would  a  sick  child.  The  mai-iy 
roots  and  shrubs,  which  the  experience  of  rude  life  had  ascertained 
to  be  salutary,  were  compounded  into  beverages  for  her  use.  Charms 
were  wrought  with  care  and  skill,  and  poured  out  upon  the  earth  at 
the  hour  of  night,  under  the  influence  of  the  full  moon ;  that,  as  they 
were  absorbed  into  the  dry  earth,  the  disease  might  disappear  from 
the  suffering  girl. 

The  third  day  she  lay  motioaless,  breathing  short  and  heavily,  with 
half  open  eyes  and  face  pale  as  marble.  Tongatou  thought  her  hour 
of  death  had  indeed  arrived,  and  he  sunk,  down  upon  his  knees  ba- 
side  h«r,  and  wept  freely. 

"  Very  beautiful  wert  thou,  O  maiden  of  the  sunny  brow,"  he  mur 
mured,  "but  the  shadow  of  the  Great  Spirit  is  upon  thee."  Impelled 
.by  an  impulse  he  could  not  control,  his  tongue  burst  forth  in  prayer 
to  the  God  of  the  white  maiden.  Margaret  opened  her  eyes  and  be 
held  him  kneeling  at  her  side.  Touched  by  the  simplicity  and  fervency 
of  his  appeal,  she  also  wept ;  and  when  he  ceased,  she  laid  her  thin 
hand  in  his  and  said — 

"Tongatou  is  very  kind.  The  Great  Spirit  has  heard  his  prayer 
But  O,  the  damp  heavy  pressure  that  has  been  upon  me.  I  feel  as  if  1 
had  been  through  the  dark  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death." 

Tongatou  wept  at  the  tones  of  her  voice  ;  with  a  delicacy  and  re 
finement  that  a  more  cultivated  mind  might  have  envied,  he  pre 
pared  all  things  for  her  comfort.  Combed  out  the  long  tangles  of  her 
beautiful  hair,  smoothed  the  skins  beneath  her  head,  and  laid  fresh 
•Wossoms  upon  her  pillow.  When  the  night  came  on,  he  laid  himselt 
at  the  door  of  her  lodge  and  watched  while  she  slept.  In  the  ten- 
<Jernes3of  her  gratitude,  Margaret  called  him  "  Brother."  Tongatou 
was  more  than  rewarded,  for  Tecumseh  had  called  hira  by  the  same 
name. 

One  night  Margaret  was  awakened  from  slumber  by  a  loud  crash, 
that  seemed  to  shake  the  very  earth  with  terror.  The  elements  were 
warring  fearfully,  and  the  red  bolt  had  shivered  a  tree  beside  her. 
The  rain  was  pouring  in  torrents,  and  the  murky  darkness  of  the  night 
lay  like  a  dense  pall  upon  the  earth,  relieved  only  by  the  fierce  glare 
of  the  lightning,  that  revealed  the  wild  swaying  of  the  branches  and 
disrupted  trees,  reeling  in  the  darkness.  The  lone  girl,  exhausted 
by  sickness,  felt  a  strange  terror  overcome  her,  and  she  called  loudly 
«pon  Tongatou. 

4i  Brother,  I  will  sit  by  thee,  for  this  darkness  and  storm  are 
terrible." 

Tongatou  gathered  the  skins  about  her,  and  seated  himself  at  her 
side.  "  Is  fear  known  to  the  Swaying  Reed  ?  Tongatou  thought  she 
had  never  known  it." 

"  Brother,  I  am  like  a  leaf  that  shivers  in  the  autumn  blast — I  shall 
soon  be  carrisd  away." 

"  Tongatou  will  seat  himself  away,"  said  the  youth  in  a  trembling 
-voice,  "  for  the  words  of  the  Swaying  Reed  sink  too  deeply  iato  his 


i  heart."     A  flash  of  lightning  revealed  the  ghastly  face  of  her  com- 
J  panion,  and  Margaret,  mistaking  its  cause,  gently  detained  him. 

"Tell  me,  brother,  what  it  is  that  you  mean.  Is  sorrow  in  ihe 
'heart  of  Tongatou  *" 

He  sighed  heavily  and  was  long  silent.  A  terrible  suspicion  flashed 
upon  the  mind  of  the  lone  girl,  and  she  dropped  the  hand  she  had 
seized. 

"  Tongatou  is  very  sorrowful.  He  loves  the  Swaying  Reed,  but 
she  loves  him  only  as  a  brother.  Tecumseh  and  the  Swaying  Reed 
have  both  called  him  brother.  He  is  worthy  ef  their  love  ;  but  let 
not  the  voice  of  the  Swaying  Reed  be  so  like  the  wind  through  the 
pine  trees,  for  it  goeth  to  the  heart  of  Tongatou." 

Margaret  felt  no  terror  at  this  frank  avowal  from  the  lips  of  the 
young  savage,  for  her  own  innocence  and  purity  were  shield  and 
buckler,  and  she  knew  too  well  the  honor  and  generosity  of  the  man 
with  whom  her  lot  had  been  cast,  to  feel  aught  of  fear.  She  gen-tly 
desired  the  youth  to  remain  at  her  side  till  the  perilous  storm  should 
be  past.  Tongatou  obeyed,  and  more  than  an  hour  they  remained 
silently  watching  the  progress  of  the  tempest. 

"  The  white  girl  is  as  one  from  the  spirit  land,  to  her  red  brother ; 
will  she  not  talk  of  that  place  of  shadows  1'* 

Fervently  did  Margaret  dwell  upon  the  glory  and  beatitude  of  that 
state,  whose  happiness  the  human  heart  has  failed  to  conceive.  She 
told  of  the  blossoms  by  the  tree  of  life,  that  fade  not  nor  decay;  she 
told  of  the  pure  waters,  and  the  melodies  that  shall  never  cease ;  of 
that  diffused  and  ineffable  light,  that  could  dim  the  brightness  of  sun 
and  moon  and  resplendent  star;  of  the  Power  that  should  reign  for 
ever  and  ever,  undisturbed  by  storm  and  tempest  or  the  fierceness  of 
human  passion.  As  she  went  on,  her  voice  became  deep  and  musi 
cal  in  the  earnestness  of  her  description,  and  the  youth  remarked : 

'•'  The  voice  of  the  Swaying  Reed  is  as  that  of  the  spirit-bird 
When  Tongatou  shall  be  away  in  the  lone  woods,  he  will  be  filled 
with  joy.  He  may  behold  the  Swaying  Reed,  in  that  heaven  of 
which  she  has  told  him,  for  the  heart  of  Tongatou  is  very  sad." 

"  Brother,"  said  Margaret,  "  the  Great  Spirit  hath  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  Swaying  Reed,  and  she  will  pass  away  as  the  mist  from  the 
hills.  But  Tongatou  will  remember  that  she  pitied  and  deplored  his 
love" 

The  next  morning,  the  sun  glittered  upon  the  drops  depending 
heavily  from  the  trees;  the  birds  that  had  been  all  night  rudely  tossed 
in  their  frail  tenements,  shook  the  spray  from  their  wings,  and 
rejoicing  that  the  peril  were  past,  burst  forth  into  a  new  and  w  ilder 
strain  of  melody ;  the  squirrel  sprung  chattering  from  branch  to  branch, 
and  the  rabbit  poised  its  ears,  cast  around  its  wild  brilliant  eyes,  and 
leaped  in  the  very  gladness  of  its  heart.  The  trees,  that  had  been  so 
rudely  shaken,  swayed  lightly  as  if  trying  the  firmness  of  their  roots, 
while  those  that  had  been  torn  from  the  earth  leaned  heavily  against 
their  companions  as  if  in  quest  of  sympathy. 

Margaret  was  so  much  recovered  as  to  be  able  to  follow  Tongatou 
a  considerable  distance  in  the  direction  of  the  river,  but  her  steps 
were  slow,  and  ere  night  she  was  obliged  to  repose  and  sleep  again 
in  the  shadow  of  the  old  woods.  When  at  length  they  had  reached 
the  river,  the  fresh  winds  rippling  its  surface,  and  the  heaving  of  its 
waters,  filled  her  with  a  portion  of  her  former  vivacity,  and  she  plied 
the  light  paddle  with  a  beaming  eye,  and  the  bright  hue  upon  her 
cheek  ;  but  she  was  soon  obliged  to  lie  down  in  the  bottom  of  the 
canoe  and  trust  to  the  guidance  of  Tongatou. 

They  had  been  gliding  on  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees, 
whose  dense  foliage  limited  the  view  to  a  vista  of  the  river  above  and 
below  them,  and  a  bright  gleaming  of  the  sky,  when  the  opening  of 
the  prairie  permitted  a  more  extensive  prospect.  Tongatou  balanced 
his  paddle  and  arose  hastily,  for  a  dense  cloud  of  smoke,  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  village,  hung  heavily  in  the  atmosphere.  Again  bend 
ing  to  his  task,  and  assisted  by  Margaret,  they  rapidly  made  their 
way  in  the  direction.  Slowly,  in  immense  volumes,  arose  the  black 
vapor,  rolling  and  swelling  along,  bearing  itself  upward  like  a 
vast  pyramid,  till  it  reached  the  higher  regions  of  the  air,  when  it 
sailed  off  like  a  floating  banner  in  the  blue  sky.  As  they  approached", 
straggling  bands  of  savages  were  seen  encamped  in  the  marshes  and 
on  the  banks  of  the  creeks,  feeble  and  worn,  the  children  crying  for 
food,  and  the  women  making  loud  lamentations  for  the  dead  and 
dying. 

At  another  time  Margaret  would  have  approached  them,  but  now 
she  was  aware  that  a  battle  had  been  foaght  between  her  own  peo 
ple  and  the  red  man,  and  her  own  doom  so  near  its  accomplishment 
demanded  speed. 

When  the  canoe  stopped  in  the  little  cove  beside  the  grape-vine 
arbor,  Margaret  beheld  the  flames  just  kindling  upon  the  cabin  of 


CAPTIVE,- 


THE     NEW      WORLD 


37 


Minaree.  The  brand  had  been  applied  by  a  soldier  who  lingered;  pant  only  that  leaves  the  tenement  to  decay."  The  Bible  of  Alice 
after  the  departure  of  his  comrades,  whom  the  insulated  dwelling  |  was  beside  her,  and  y«.t  she  did  not  open  it,  for  unacquainted  with 
had  escaped.  She  rushed  forward  in  time  to  secure  the  Bible  of  Al-  |  the  evidences  for  its  authority,  the  distrusted  at  this  time,  so  fraught 


ice,  and  then  stood  to  witness  the  destruction  of  her  last  place  of  re 
fuge.  In  the  distance,  she  could  behold  the  retreating  party,  and 
hear  their  war-notes  of  triumph,  as  they  marched  onward,  leaving  a 
thousand  women  and  children,  starving  and  defenceless,  to  perish 
amid  the  ashes  of  their  wigwams.  The  wounded  and  the  dead  were  I 
heaped  together,  and  the  red  glare  of  the  flames  rested  fearfully  upon 
their  livid  faces 

The  battle  of  Tippecanoe  had  been  fought,  and  she  stood 
amid  the  ruias  of  its  homes.  The  flames  spread  to  the  ad 
joining  groves,  and  in  the  darkness  of  the  night  the  towering  flame, 
as  it  embraced  some  monarch  of  the  woods,  sent  forth  a  thousand 
tongues  of  light,  darting  and  writhing  like  fiery  dragon?.  Slowly  as 


with  fearful  interest,  all  evidence,  except  that  which  she  gathered 
from  the  world  about  her,  and  the  great  evidence  founded  on  the 
character  of  her  own  inward  nature.  She  believed,  because  it  ia  a 
part  of  the  constitution  of  the  human  soul  to  believe,  and  the  belief 
is  the  argument  for  its  immortality.  A  holy  calm  grew  upon  he-J 
and  she  closed  her  eyes,  humbly  resigning  her  spirit  td  the  Infinite 
'  The  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  and  ye  hear  the  sound  thereof, 
but  cannot  tell  whence  it  cometh  nor  whither  it  goeth  :  so  ia  every 
one  that  is  born  of  the  spirit.'  She  closed  its  pages  in  thought.  No 
more  can  we  tell  whence  cometh  or  whither  goeth  the  soul. 
But  we  feel  that  when  it  shall  be  born  into  its  spiritual  life, 
more  will  be  revealed.  She  read  again,  '  The  kingdom  of  God  ia 


the  sounds  of  the  retreating  army  died  away,  came  in  the  dispersed !  >  wlthl(1  y°u>'  and  mused'  ll  ls  an  everlasting  Kingdom.  Again,  « The 
inhabitaata.  anJ  crouched  themselves  in  groups  about  the  smoulder-  ^esh  P^fiteth  nothing;  it  13  the  spirit  that  giveth  life'  "Holy 
in*  ashes.  Each  family  selected  the  hearth-stone  that  had  onee  been  Father,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  believe  in  what  thou  hast  said;  for  it  ia 
iuTown,  and  a  wild  song  of  lamentation  broke  from  every  lip.  Here  m  harmony  with  the  desires  and  necessities  of  the  human  soul, 
might  be  seen  a  wife  stanching  the  blood  from  the  wounds  of  her!  Surely  'h°uwast  »  teacher  sent  from  God." 

wounded  companion,  while  the  filmed  eye  and  laboring  chest  showed '  i  The  shadows  of  evening  gathered  upon  the  earth,  aad  low,  fitful 
it  must  be  in  vain.  Children  were  clinging  to  the  mother,  who  had  i  |  iU3ts  stirred  the  branches.  She  raised  her  eyes  upward,  and  again 
dragged  herself  hither  to  die— a  new-born  infant  partaking  of  its  first  j the  »ew  m°°n  hung  its  silver  barque  upon  the  verge  of  the  horizon. 
and  Fast  tribute  of  life,  for  the  dying  groan  of  her  who  had  given  itj!  she  urose  and  left  the  arbor-  Tongatou  met  her  at  the  entrance, 
life  mingled  with  the  shrieks  of  her  children.  Here  might  be  seen  a  J  j  and  addressed  her. 


yeang  mother  clasping  the  dead  body  of  her  first-bo?  n,  pierced  by  a 
wandering  bullet,  refusing  to  believe  life  were  indeed  extinct,  and 
she  alone  in  her  sorrow,  though  hunger,  and  cold,  and  death  were  in 
reserve  for  herself. 

Margaret  moved  onward  to  where  a  heap  of  ashes  alone  remained 
of  all  that  was  once  hers.  A  shrivelled  and  half-naked  figure  was 
crouched  amid  the  ruins,  holding  her  bony  hands  over  a  heap  of 
coals  that  remained  upon  the  hearth.  She  had  placed  a  few  kernels 
of  corn  to  parch,  and  as  Margaret  approached,  she  clutched  at  thsm 
eagerly,  with  a  laugh  of  savage  triumph,  like  the  growl  of  a  wild 
animal.  It  was  Minaree.  Margaret  looked  in  her  face,  but  a  be 
wildered,  idiotic  stare  was  her  only  token  of  recognition. 

Tongatou  had  prepared  the  bower  by  the  river  for  the  repose  of 
Margaret,  and  she  divided  her  skins  with  Minaree.  As  she  led  her 
into  it,  ths  poor  creature  seemed  in  part  to  recollect  her  foster-child, 
for  she  smoothed  down  her  hair  many  times,  as  if  the  operation  gave ; 
her  pleasure,  smiling  and  weeping  at  the  same  time.  Then  she  laid 
herself  down  for  a  moment,  to  rest;  but  she  arose  again  and  looked  j 
at  Margaret,  caressing  her  thin  hands,  and  gazing  piteously  in  her  | 
face.  It  was  shocking  to  behold  the  ravages  of  disease  and  famine, 
for  she  was  wasted  to  a  skeleton. 

The  next  morning,  when  Tongatou  laid  a  piece  of  venison  at  the 
door,  Margaret  prepared  it  quietly,  lest  Minaree  should  awake.  When 
all  was  ready,  she  gently  shook  her  by  the  arm.  It  was  stiffand  cold. 
Poor  Minaree  was  dead  !  Margaret  laid  the  venison  aside,  contenting 
herself  with  a  draught  of  cold  water;  for  so  nearly  were  the  threads  of 
life  spun  out,  that  their  wants  were  scarcely  felt.  She  took  a  fearful 
pleasure  in  looking  at  the  cold  still  face  of  the  dead,  as  prefiguring 
what  she  should  soon  be  ;  and  ths  sight  of  its  mortality  helped  to 


The  glory  of  the   Shawanee   has   departed.     Why  should  the 
Swaying  Reed  die  for  a  dead  people  1     Let  her  depart  in  peace." 

"  The  pledge  of  the  white  maiden  must  be  redeemed,"  she  re 
plied,  solemnly. 

An  immense  fire  had  been  kindled  in  the  centre  of  the  ruined 
village,  and  groups  were  dispersed  about  it  of  men,  women,  and 
warriors  escaped  from  the  perils  of  defeat.  "When  the  pale  girl  ap 
peared  in  their  midst,  rrmmurs  of  surprise  at  first,  and  then  of  tri 
umph,  mingled  in  the  crowd.  Here  was  a  victim  ;  one  of  the  very 
race  that  had  brought  such  suffering  upon  them,  whose  death  might 
appease  the  dead,  and  upon  whom  they  might  wreak  their  revenge. 
Margaret  paused  not  till  she  reached  a  group,  in  the  midst  of  whom 
she  beheld  Kumshaka  and  the  Prophet.  Standing  before  them, 
she  pointed  her  pale  hand  to  where  the  moon  lingered  with  its 
slender  beam. 

"  The  moon  has  filled  its  horn  and  disappeared,  behold  it  is  here 
again.  The  white  girl  has  redeemed  her  pledge."  She  stood  with 
folded  arms  and  eyes  bent  upon  the  ground. 

At  any  other  time  such  generosity  would  have  won  applause,  even 
here  in  the  midst  of  untutored  nature ;  for  the  sentiments  of  virtue 
are  universal.  But  now  they  were  stung  by  recent  defeat,  and  by 
loss  and  suffering;  and  to  their  superstitious  vision  the  period  de 
manded  more  than  ever  a  victim.  Slowly  uprose  the  cry  of  death, 
gathering  volumef  till  one  fearful  appalling  yell  awoke  a  thousand 
echoes.  Margaret  stood  unmoved ;  her  meek  hands  folded,  and  her 
face  still  and  colorless.  The  Prophet  led  her  to  the  midst,  bound 
j  her  unresisting  hands  to  the  stake,  and  commenced  the  preparatory 


There  was  a  motion   amid   the  outer  crowd,  a  swaying  and  con- 
,  fused  voices.     A  warrior  leapt  into   the  midst,  and  with  a  blow 

aive  palpability  to  her  meditations.  Her  thoughts  followed  in  Pur' j  j  geyere(j  t]ie  Cor(j8  of  the  victim.  A  faint  cry  burst  from  the  lips  of 
suit  of  the  disembodied  spirit,  so  recently  gone  forth  on  its  eternal  j  M  re,  and  she  ftu  into  the  arms  of  Tecumseh.  It  was  but  one 
flight.  She  shed  no  tears  for  herself  or  others ;  for  what  had  she  1 3  ( j  moment  of  we -.kness,  and  she  aroee  and  stood  up. 


do* with  human  emotions,  to  whom  the  mysteries  of  the  unknown 
world  were  so  soon  to  be  revealed.  She  rolled  th«  .kins  about  her 
foster-parent  with  her  own  hands,  and  bound  the  kerchief  over  her 

gray  locks.     She  shuddered  not 


Fiercely  did  the  chief  eye  the  group  of  dispirited  and  traitorous 
warriors.     Even  the  Prophet  quailed  before  it,  and  Kumshaka  with- 


fla,  ana  oounu  iu«  *«,  -  "r"  1 1  drew  deeper  into  the  crowd.     Tecurmeh  perceived  it,  and  shaking 

at  the  cold,  rigid,  marble  touch:  for|||W^^  ^  __n  ^.^ 

tlere  was  relief  in  knowing  that  poor  Minaree  ™^+*?**w _ 

le*f  alone  were  audible,  in  that  hushed  assemblage  I 

«'  I  have  been  told  all.     Ye  have  severed  the  belt  that  should  have 


ageiy  of  witue'ssing  her  own  death.  *he  he  Ped  Tongatou  to  P«J 
pare  the  grave  in  the  midst  of  the  arbor  which  M.naree  had  helped 
to  adorn  f  she  rounded  the  green  turf  above  it,  and  then  weanly  laid 
.her  head  upon  it,  as  her  last  place  of  repose. 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

And  the  blue  wave  upon  the  beach  dissolves, 
Like  woman's  hopes  and  manhood's  high  resolves. 


iia  finae/at  the  craven  chief,  he  commanded  him  to  rem*'n.    After 
a  paus'e,  in  which  the  crackling  of  the  flame  and  the  rustling  of  the 


bound  our  people  together. 


AMELIA  B.  WBLBV. 
n  deep  and  awful! 
jssed  heavily  upon, 

her,  dense,  vast,  and  almost  rayle.s.     "When"  man  dieih,  shall 
live  again  1"  she  repeated  again  and  again,  and  an  echo  f 
ward  self  responded,.  «  Death  is  but  the  rending  ot  the  veil-t< 
is  to  realize,  to  hope  ia  to  enjoy.     It  is  the  going  forth  of 


oun  .     Ye  have  provoked  the  rage  of  a  pc 

stronger  than  we,  and  with  your  own  hands  have  dn<  .1 
of  your  children.     But  tell  me  here  with  your  own  hpa  who  hath 
counselled  this  1    Who  is  the  traitor  to  his  people 

"Kumshaka!"  whispered  the  pale  Hpa  of  Margaret. 

"  Kumshaka  !"  burst  from  the  whol*  assemblage. 


Margaret's  eyes  followed 


ud  she 
,  her  «yes  fixed  ia 


the  body  Of  him  upon  whom  juaUce  had  b.e. 


38 


THE      NEW     WORLD 


THE  WESTERN 


summarily  administered:  her  cheek  ashy  pale,  and  her  figure  like'!  slight  changes,  which  .may  have  been  already  anticipated.  Mrs. 
a  statue  endowed  with  life  and  breath,  bat  denied  the  power  ofjj  Jones  abandoned  the  gpmning-whee],  except  at  long  intervals,  when 
motion.  |  a  day  of  bright  sunshine,  a  brisk  fire,  and  a  peculiar  harmony  be 

tween   atmospheric  and  utrvous  influences,  awakened  a  sense  of 
juvenility,  when  its  brisk  buzz  might  again  be  heard,  and  her  trem- 


Tecuraseh  cast  his  eyes  mournfully  over  the  ruined  village,  the 
blackened  woods,   and   the  feeble  remnant  of  his  tribe.     Where 


were  now  those  great  hopes  that  were  to  elevate  his  people  1  that    bling  hand  seen  guiding  the  irregular  thread,  which  afterward  was 


far-seeing  policy  that  was  to  place  them  among  the  nations  of  the 


duly  exhibited  to  every  visiter  that  might  make  his  appearance.     In 


earth  1  that  union  and  peace  that  were  to  ensure  their  strength  and  j  general,  however,  she  was  seated  in  her  large  chair,  on  the  warmest 
perpetuity  1  Where  were  his  own  dreams  of  future  glory  and  hap-:; side  of  the  hearth,  her  fingers  slowly  and  mechanically  basied  with 
pinessl  All — all  were  lost.  As  he  looked  abroad,  the  spirit  of  M  her  knitting-needles,  a  work  of  the  hands  only,  in  which  sight  was 
prophecy  sprang  to  his  lips.  unnecessary  j  and  its  monotony  suited  the  quietness  of  decay.  Oc- 

"The  daom  of  the  red  men  has  gone  forth.  The  hunter  shall  | ,  casionally,  her  lips  moved,  but  whether  in  sympathy  with  he-r  hands., 
cease  from  the  chase,  and  the  warrior  from  the  field  of  battle.  The!  °r  in  the  involuntary  utterance  of  thought,  as  the  child  thinks  aloud, 
mounds  of  the  dead  shall  be  levelled  to  the  earth,  and  the  graves  of i  j is  uncertain.  When  roused  by  the  kindly  voice  of  Anna,  sbe 
our  fathers  forgotten.  The  wigwam  shall  become  a  den  for  the  fox.jj would  lift  UP  her  dim  eyes.  smile.  aed  move  her  hands  hurriedly, 
and  the  vine  creep  over  the  ruined  canoe.  The  path  to  the  j  • like  a  child  taken  by  surprise.  She  now  talked  but  little,  and  took 
spirit  land  is  thronged  with  our  people.  They  come  from  the  great  I;  small  note  of  what  passed  about  her;  yet  she  always  called  Mrs. 
lakes,  the  valleys  of  the  east  and  the  west,  and  the  sunlight  of  the!  I  Mason,  Anny;  or  when  some  buried  memory  arose  from  its  sepul- 
south.  They  move  their  heads  sadly  as  they  move  onward,  and  point  chre>  awakening  emotions  of  tenderness,  she  called  her  "  Darter," 
to  the  land  that  is  lost  to  their  children.  The  Indian  has  no  home  which  never  fai'ed  to  fiU  the  eyes  of  both  with  tears. 
upon  the  earth.  Lo  he  has  passed  away,  and  his  name  is  forgotten." ;  Airs  Mason's  family  had  somewhat  increased,  but  as  her  husband's 

He  folded  his  robe  over  his  bosom,  and  stood  lost  in  thought.  At!  worldly  goods  had  also  kept  steady  progress,  nothing  had  impaired 
length  he  turned  to  Margaret,  and  took  her  cold  hand  in  his.  Sheathe  hearty  cheerfulness  of  her  temper.  She  was  wont  to  exhibit 
moved  not.  He  laid  his  hand  upon  her  brow,  it  was  like  the  touch!  occasionally  her  wedding-dress,  as  a  miracle  of  diminutiveness, 
of  marble.  The  strong  man  groaned  heavily.  Oae  moment  he  |  compared  with  the  ample  size  of  those  that  now  enveloped  her 
pressed  the  slight  figure  to  his  bosom,  and  then  laid  it  upon  the  grass,  goodly  person ;  for  Mrs.  Mason  had  increased  materially  in  size,  as 
He  severed  one  lock  of  the  long,  beautiful  hair,  and  turned  away  to  all  hearty,  good-natured  women  will,  who  are  well  to  do  in  the  world, 


the  solitude  of  the  forest. 


and  have  little  mental  effort,  except  that  which  is  prompted  by  ready 


Ackoree  held  back  the  powers  oi'life,  while  the  last  fearful  tragedy '  sympathy,  and  active,  confiding  benevolence.     She  now  employed 
had  been  enacted,  and  she  now  stooped  down  and  laid  her  hand! j'help'  constantly;    and   her  children  were  always   the  tidiest,  the 

It  beat  faintly,  and  a^.smartest,  the  healthiest,  and  most  daring  to  be  found  anywhere. 
jiHer  notability,  too,  found  ample  employment  in  helping  Alice,  now 


upon  the  heart  of  the  insensible  Margaret, 
savage  joy  lit  up  her  fierce  eye. 

"Ackoree  is  glad  that  the  white  girl  lives.     She  wouH  have  her  j 'Mrs.  Mansfield,  in  the  management  of  household  matter?.     Were 
suffer  long."  she  ill,  it  did  one's  heart  good  to  see  with  what  alacrity  Mrs.  Mason 

She  gazed  into  the  open,  unwinking  eye,  and  held  her  cheek  to ;:  donned  her  host  cap  and  apron,  and  repaired  thither  to  nurse  her  like 
catch  the  light  breath.  a  child,  and  absolve  her  from  all  care  of  the  household.     She  never 

"  The  white  girl  has  been  as  wretched    as  Ackoree,  and  it  does; .  na(1  a  baking  without  a  portion  being  kept  in  reserve  for  Alice,  who 
her  heart  good,"  she  whispered,  in  husky  tones.  '• \  reciprocated  her  kindness  by  presents  of  smart  caps,  and  collars,  and 

With  the  battle  of  Tippecanoc,  perished  the  great  scheme  of  In-!|tunic3  for  the  little  Masons' 

dian  confederation,  which  had  so  long  been  the  forlorn  hope  of  Te-ii  Tne  home  of  Alice  was  a  pleasant  cottage  on  the  banks  of  the 
cumseh.  But  the  scheme,  conceived  and  upheld  only  by  his  own  Wabash,  and,  just  as  she  desired,  close  to  her  excellent  friend,  Mrs. 
personal  influence,  was  doomed  to  failure  ere  it  was  well  completed.  Mason.  Her  cheek  had  resumed  its  hue  of  health,  though  a  slight 
Had  he  been  the  foe  to  any  other  people,  Americans  would  have  i  expression  of  sadness  lingered  about  the  pure  temples  and  the  gentle 
been  ready  to  do  justice  to  his  memory;  but  time  will  remove  the  j  lips>  blending  with  that  quietude  of  air  that  betokened  a  heart  at  rest, 
prejudices  that  must  always  cloud  the  fame  of  a  reformer,  and  when  I;  She  was  happy,  as  a  wife,  gratified  in  all  her  affections,  needs  must 
the  name  of  the  last  Indian  shall  have  been  inscribed  upon  the  scroll  |  j  be.  She  was  gentle  and  loving,  trusting  and  meek ;  and  the  lot  of 
of  eternity,  monuments  will  be  reared  to  his  memory.  Reflecting1  such  is  always  that  of  blessedness.  She  was  still  uncertain  as  to  the 
thatMetacom,  Pentiac,  and  Tecamseh  struggled  for  the  very  bcon,jifate  of  Margaret,  and  the  thought  of  her  often  brought  a  pang  to  her 
for  which  our  fathers  bled  and  died,  liberty  for  their  wives  and  chil- ,  i  heart.  It  was  the  one  thorn  to  remind  her  that  the  blossoms  of  earth 
dren,  their  names  will  be  inscribed  with  the  great  and  good  of  allj  are  thus  armed. 

ages,  who  have  sought  to  do  good  for  their  country.  The  circum-j!  It  was  the  musing  hour  of  twilight,  when  the  repose  stealing  upon 
stance  of  failure  will  not  detract  from  the  ability  with  which  their1  the  earth  predisposes  ike  soul  to  reflection,  and  we  feel,  if  ever,  the 
plans  were  conceived,  or  the  devotion  with  which  they  yielded  beautiful  propriety  of  scripture,  that  represents  the  patriarch  going 
themselves  to  a  great  mission.  They  will  cease  to  be  enemies,  and;, forth  at  even-tide  to  meditate.  Alice  was  seated  thus;  and  a  beau- 


become  patriots. 


CONCLUSION. 


Stoop  o'er  the  place  of  grave?,  and  softly  sway 
The  sighing  herbage  by  the  gleaming  stone ; 

That  they  who  near  the  church-yard  willows  stray, 
And  listen  in  the  deepening  gloom,  alone, 

May  think  of  gentle  souls  that  passed  away, 
Like  thy  pure  breath,  into  the  vast  unknown, 

Sent  forth  from  heaven  among  the  sons  of  men, 

And  gone  into  tlie  boundless  heaven  again      [BRYANT. 


tiful  child,  of  perhaps  two  years,  weary  with  the  busy  sports  of  the 
day,  stood  at  her  knee,  robed  in  its  loose  night-dress.  Presently,  it 
folded  its  chubby  hands  together,  and  lisped  forth  an  evening  prayer, 
while  the  roguish  eyes  were  winking  all  the  time,  in  vain  effort  to 
keep  them  closed. 

Little  Margaret,  for  such  was  her  name,  wore  the  compact  spirit 
ual  features  of  her  aunt,  and  the  dark,  abundant  curls  looked  the 
same  that  had  waved  over  her  shoulders  in  childhood.  Even  the 
turn  of  the  head,  the  curve  of  the  lip,  were  the  same  ;  and  there,  too, 
breathed  her  stateliness  of  air. 

The  door  opened,  and  a  moccasoned  foot  appeared  upon  the  threeh- 


FOUR  years  elapsed  after  the  iucidents  of  our  story.  The  battle 
of  the  Thames  had  destroyed  the  strength  of  the  northern  tribes,  and  i  i  old'  Alice  Put  by  lhe  child'  and  ha£tened  forward.  It  was  Tonga- 
th«  death  of  Tecumseh  annihilated  the  bands  of  confedera'tion.  !  j  tou  !  He  was  much  changed,  but  his  noble  and  generous  bearing 
After  the  battle  of  Tippecanoe,  he  had  made  one  more  last  effort  ati!remained  the  same;  and  she  welcomed  him  as  a  friend,  and  prc- 
peace  and  union  ;  but  that  had  been  its  death-blow.  His  own  mar-  server-  The  child  beSan  to  Play  with  the  plumes  of  his  helmet,  and 
vellous  eloquence,  bravery,  and  great  personal  influence,  for  a  while  ehe  looked  on>  l°nging>  and  yet  feeing  to  ask  of  Margaret.  The 
promised  success,  but  they  were  unavailing.  His  people  lacked,  chief  took  the  fearless  child  in  his  arms,  and  gazed  long  and  earestly 
hearts  to  feel  as  he  felt,  eyes  to  see  as  he  beheld,  and  wisdom  to  \ 
understand  the  connectien  of  events,  and  the  promise  and  revealings' 
of  the  future.  He  had  stood,  a  solitary  watcher  in  the  strong  tower  j 
of  Indian  safety;  and  when  he  fell,  the  beacon-light  was  extinguished,  j 
and  forever. 


"  It  i8  the  spirit  of  the  Swaying  Reed,"  he  at  length  said,  and  he 
turned  away  to  conceal  the  tears,  that  sprang  to  his  eyes. 

Alice  wept,  but  it  may  be  they  were  tears  of  relief,  as  well  as  of 
sorrow.  She  seated  herself  by  his  side,  and  begged  he  would  tell 


The  characters  of  our  story  rsmained  the  same,  allowing  for  the  I  'her  all.    Little  Margaret  hid  her  face  upon  her  mother's  bosom,  and 


CAPTIVE. 


THE     NEW     WORLD. 


se  ;  for  a  sorrowful  tone, 
.•,  even  in  the  heart  of  a  child 


i     , 
truth  that 


"Noble  and  generous  girl,  how  could  I  so  much  have  mistaken 
her  !  But  tell  me,  Tongatou,  had  it  been  otherwise,  would  she  have 
returned  t»  our  people  1" 

The  chief  evaded  the  question,  and  went  on  to  tell  of  the  ruin  that 
met  them  on  their  return,  the  appearance  of  Tecumseh,  and  th« 
strange  long  sleep  of  the  Swaying  Reed. 

"  Thank  God,,  she  escaped  that  death  of  torture.    And  it  was  for 


the  return  of 


me   that  she  suffered  all  thU-nor  asked  for  reward,  nor  sympathy 
Mysterious,  aad  beautiful  spirit!  how  unlike  thy  unworthy  sister  ."' 

The  chief  went  on.  «  For  many,  many  days  the  Swayin*  Reed 
neither  moved  nor  spoke,  but  their  was  warmth  about  her  heart  and 
we  kn.w  the  spirit  had  not  gone  forth.  Straage  fear  came  upon  us 
for  she  had  been  as  one  from  the  spirit-land.  At  length  nil  was  cold 
and  still.  Tongatou  knew  not  till  now,  that  her  spiril  was  preparing 
to  enter  the  body  of  the  white  child,"  and  he  stooped  down  over  the 
sleeping  babe,  to  read  anew  the  evidence,  and  then  went  OH. 

"Our  people  will  never  believe  she  is  dead,  and  they  tell  of  her  as 
ene  that  is  suffered  to  remain  out  of  love  to  the  poor  Indian.  Tonga 
tou  has  heard  her  song  at  night,  and  heard  her  voice  speaking  to  hi* 
heart.  Tecumseh  slept  all  night  upon  the  grave  of  the  Swaying 
Reed,  and  he  felt  that  she  came  to  comfort  him.  But  he  never 
smiled.  His  heart  had  long  been  dead.  The  sorrows  of  his  people 
and  the  death  of  the  Swaying  Reed  broke  the  strength  of  the  strong 
man.  Tongatou  bore  him  from  the  field  of  battle,  and  laid  his  body 
by  the  side  of  the  Swaying  Reed.  Tongatou  will  dig  his  own  grave 
at  the  will  of  the  Great  Spirit,  and  rest  by  his  side.  He  has  built  his 
lodge  there,  and  all  night  the  spirit-bird  sings  upon  the  roof." 

Opening  his  mantle  he  produced  a  small  box,  which  Alice  instantly 
recognized  as  having  once  been  Margaret's.     From  this  he  took  a 
long  glossy  curl,  and  held  it  to  the  light.     «  This  I  found  in  the  boson, 
of  Tecumseh;  a  part  is  buried  with  him,  and  this  must  sleep  with 
Tongatou.     The  book  of  the  white  girl  is  here;  he  has  no  need  of  it  :" 
and  he  presented  the  relic  to  Mrs.  Mansfiild.    She  clasped  it  to  he, 
bosom  and  wept  freely,  for  the  simple  memorial  and  the  recital  o 
the  chief,  had  restored  at  once  the  look  and  very  tones  of  her  sister, 
and  the  whole  of  her  sad,  suffering  destiny. 
When  she  lifted  up  her  head,  she  was  alone. 

EXD   OF    THE    WESTERN  CAPTIVE. 


THE     CHRISTIAN     SISTERS 


BY  MRS.   SEBA   SMITH. 

CHAPTER  I. 

TOWARD  the  close  of  a  summer  day,  ia  the  year  1552,  a  period  of 
gloom  and  distrust  throughout  the  British  realm,  occasioned  by  the 
sanguinary  and  cruel  persecutions  suffered  by  the  believers  in  the 


Jter  and  then,  with  the  •**SS3*Ej3S 
he  glossy  curls  that  had  escaped  from  its  confinement  ov r her  fin- 
;   era     nd  pldced  lt  ^  chwk  rf  ^  ^  » 

|  a  fearful  contrast  with  its  marble  hue. 

ft  was  evident,  likewise,  that  anxiety  for  her  companion  had  not 
entirely  abstracted  attention  from  her  own  personal  appearance,  for 
her  dark  hair  was  parted  smoothly  from  her  brow,  and  fastened  in 
long  bra,d3  to  the  back  of  the  head  by  means  of  a  silver  bodkin, 
here  was  likew.se  an  attempt  at  what  is,  I  believe,  technically 
termed  wate.-curls  upon  her  temple,  but  they  had  been  abandon^, 
probably  from  some  compunctions  of  cooscience,  „  the  heertlessnew 
of  such  employment,  in  the  midst  of  a  period  of  such  suffering  to  hir 
ccmmpamon,  crossed  her  mind.  Then,  too,  the  plaits  of  her  dress 
were  arranged  over  her  snowy  shoulder  and  ches',  with  a  da-h  of 
girlish  vanity,  that  watching  and  anxiety  had  not  been  able  entirely 
to  suppress. 

She  turned  from  the  bed,  terrified  at  the  short  and  labored  breath 
ing  of  the  sufferer,  and  drawing  the  white  curtain  aside  from  the 
window,  looked  anxiously  out.  «  What  a  laggard  that  physician  in," 
.she  muttered  impatiently  to  herself,  after  looking  up  and  down  the 
street,  hoping  in  vain  to  detect  the  desired  object.  But  her  search 
was  unavailing— no  one  was  to  be  seen,  except  a  young  cavalier, 
who  was  leisurely  sauntering  along,  and  who  seemed  attracted  by 
the  snowy  shoulders,  that  were  half  protruded  from  the  window. 
So  she  did  not  immediately  withdraw,  till,  in  spite  of  the  pleasure  of 
being  admired,  her  face  and  neck  became  covered  with  blushes,  and 
she  only  observed  his  noble  bearing  and  brilliant  eye  at  the  moment, 
when  the  faint  voice  of  her  sister  recalled  her  to  the  bedsi-Je. 

"Ann,  love,"  said  the  sufferer,  "I  am  cold;  spread  the  covering 
upon  me,  and  sit  where  I  can  see  you." 

'  Oh,  Alice— dear  Alice,  you  are  dying !"  cried  the  poor  girl,  clasp 
ing  her  hands,  and  bursting  into  tears. 

Alice  stretched  her  thin  hands  toward  her,  and  pressed  her  to  her 
bosom. 

Do  not  weep,  sister,  dear :  it  is  our  Father's  will ;"  and  she  raised 
!ier  eyes  fervently  upward. 

Ann  started  from  her  bosom,  and,  with  the  impetuosity  of  girlhood, 
rushed  to  the  window,  exclaiming — 

"  Why  don't  he  come  1  He  has  left  you  to  die,  because  he  thinks 
you  a  heretic!" 

Sister  Ann," 'said  Alice,  in  a  voice  even  firmer  than  it  had  been 
or  many  days,  "  calm  yourself,  love,  and  let  us  spend  the  short  time 
'  have  to  live,  in  comforting  each  other." 

Ann  kneeled  by  the  bedside,  and  sobbed  aloud.  Alice  laid  her 
land  upon  her  head,  closed  her  eyes,  and  her  lips  moved  in  devo 
tion. 

Alice,"  said  Ann,  raising  her  hsad  with  a  strong  effort  at  compo 
sure,  and  with  a  face  in  whose  expression  every  other  feeling  had 
given  place  to  the  absorbing  one  of  anxiety  for  her  sister.  "Dear 


reformed  religion,  a  neat  but  hurable  mansion,  in  what  might,  during  i  sister,  do  you  feel  quite  sure  you  are  right  1  Sister,  love,  1  fear  you 
a  more  cheerful  reign,  have  been  one  of  the  fashionable  streets  ol  Imay  be  wrong;  and  if  you  should  be — Oh,  Alice  !  let  me  call  the 
London,  contained  two  sisters,  who  had  evident!;  been  educated  in  i  priest — confess,  and  receive  absolution,  sister,  and  in  either  case  you 
the  higher  ranks  of  society,  though  nothing  like  luxury  was  at  pre-j  will  be  safe." 


sent  visible ;  nothing  but  the  simple,  tasteful  arrangements  common 
to  women  of 'superior  refinement  and  elegance  of  taste.    There  were 


no  costly  vases,  no  splendid  silken  hangings,  no  rich  carpetings  that  j  sity — poor  lamb!"  and  she  pressed  her  sister's  cheek  compassion 


. 

Has  only  the  terror  of  parting  with  me,  Ann,  shaken  your  reli- 
faith  1    Thy  spirit  is  ill  prepared  to  drink  of  the  cup  of  adver 


hushed  the  echo  of  the  foot,  no  bells  to  gratify  the  indolence  of  ease,  '  ately,  and  raising  her  eyes,  ejaculated  — "  Oh,  thou  Shepherd  of  the 
and  to  obey  the  bidding  without  the  exertion  of  motion;  but  the]  sheep,  take  this  lamb  of  thy  Hock  and  shelter  it  from  harm  ;  carry  it 
ample  fireplace,  with  its  antique  tiles,  contained  two  vases  of ;  in  thy  bosom,  and  temper  the  wind  to  its  weakness.  Shelter  it  now, 
earthen- ware,  filled  with  flowers  that  scented  the  air  with  their  fra-j  and  strengthen  it  for  all  that  may  await  it." 

grance ;  the  polished  oaken  floor  was  partially  covered  with  a  kind  !  "  Alice,"  said  Ann,  "  my  spirit  was  never  strong,  like  thine  ;  tJioa 
of  mat,  constructed  of  rushes,  somewhat  similar  to  the  straw  carpets,  couldst  bear  the  rack  without  a  groan,  and  go  to  the  stake  with  a* 
of  modern  use  ;  the  chairs  were  of  oak,  richly  carved,  and  so  massive  much  composure  as  to  die  here  in  peace  and  quietness.  But,  Oh, 
as  almost  to  defy  the  strength  of  the  gentle  girls,  who  made  this  room ,  sister,  pray  for  me— this  bright,  this  beautiful  earth— I  love  it,  sister, 
their  sanctum.  The  high  oaken  bedstead,  with  its  linen  drapery, !  I  hardly  know  why,  but  sometimes  I  dream  of  a  home  such  - 


though  in  purity  and  comfort  befitting  the  pale  sufferer  who  rested    our  m 
upon  it,  notwithstanding,  was  as  uncouth  and  clumsy  as  modern  ima 
gination  can  well  depict.     Beside  it  stood  a  young  girl,  who  might 


other  had  when  we  were  happy  and  innocent  children;  and 
I  fear  that,  in  the  hour  of  trial,  I  might  abjure  my  faith — might  deny 
my  Saviour  on  earth — and  then  he  will  deny  me  before  his  holy 


gination  can  well  depict.     Beside  it  stood  a  young  girl,  who  might    my  Saviour  on  earth— and  tlien  ft?  win     eny  n 

have  been  fourteen  years,  judging  from  her  form,  which  was  tall,';  angels.    When  I  look  to  the  green  earth,  the  bright  blue  sky,  and  see 


40 


THE     NEW     WORLD. 


THE 


pleasant,  loving  faces— Oh,  the  earth  seems  so  lovely— I  fear  I  should 
abjure  my  faith  rather  than  leave  it." 
Alice  looked  sorrowfully  upon  her  sister's  face. 
"  Thou  must  pray  for  strength,  Ana.     Thou  wilt  never  ask  in  vain — 
thou  art  but  a  child  now — should  the  hour  of  trial  come,  I  doubt  not 
strength  will  be  given  thee.     Thou  rmtyest  never  be  called  to  give 
that  fearful  evidence  of  thy  constancy  and  faith,  that  ths  blessed 
martyrs  of  the  cross  are  daily  called  upon  to  yield,  but « as  thy  day  is, 
so  will  thy  strength  be.'" 

"  Alice,  dear,"  continued  Aan,  "  had  Heaven  granted  thee  length 
of  days,  thinkest  thou,  thou  wouldst  have  abjured  all  human  love  ? 
Dost  thou  regard  it  as  sinful,  sister  1" 

Alice  scanned  the  face  of  her  sister  inquiringly,  till  the  ready  blood 
rushed  to  the  very  temples  of  the  maiden,  and  was  spread  over  her 
young  neck. 

"Thou  art  young,  Ana,  too  young  to  be  entangled  with  the  snares 
that  beset  our  sex.  Tell  me,  dearest,"  and  &he  drew  her  sister  affec 
tionately  to  her  bosom,  "  hast  thou  thus  early  begun  to  know  aught 
of  the  love  of  womanhood?  There  should  be  no  reserve  between 
us — let  me  die  knowing  all  that  regards  thee,  for  the  counsel  of  a 
dying  sister  may  be  profitable  to  thee." 

Ann  buried  her  face  in  her  sister's  bosom,  and  struggled  for  words, 
At  length  she  replied: 

"  It  is  but  lately  that  I  dreamed  cf  aught  like  this,  but  I  will  not 
disguise  it.  I  have  seen  a  noble  youth  and  I  shall  for  ever  remember 
his  gallant  bearing,  and  new  reflections  crowd  upon  my  mind.  Can 
they  be  sinful  sister  1" 

"  Heaven  shield  thee,"  cried  Alice,  clasping  her  sister  still  more 
closely.     "Thou  art  but  too  susceptible,  Ann,  and  I  pray   thee  to 
dwell  no  more  upon  the  vision  thou  hast  seen.     It  may  lead  thee  to 
harm — pray  fervently,  lest  thou  fall  into  temptation." 
"But,  Alice,  is  it  sinful  to  love  V 

"  Only  so  far  as  it  may  lead  the  heart  from  the  Creator — only  so 
far  as  it  abstracts  those  high  and  holy  affections,  that  in  their  greatest 
strength  should  be  consecrated  to  God,  and  places  them  upon  one  of 
his  creatures.  Ann,  remember  our  mother,  how  fervently  she  blessed 
and  prayed  for  us,  and  act  as  if  her  blessed  spirit  were  ever  Bear 
thee.  It  may  be,  too,  when  I  have  cast  aside  this  earthly  tabernacle, 
I  may  be  permitted  to  be  near  thee,  to  whisper  in  thy  ear  words  of 
counsel  and  sympathy — may  breathe  into  thy  spirit  a  part  of  that  for 
titude  and  constancy  that  is  necessary  in  order  that  thy  faith  may 
be  unwavering,  and  thy  steps  secure  in  the  path  of  wisdom." 

"But  tell  me,  Alice,  wouldst  thou  have  me  cast  aside  all  earthly 
love  1" 

Alice,  in  her  taint-like  purity,  half  shr.mk  from  her  sister's  eager 
inquiry. 

"  I  cannot  tell,  Ann — such  things  were  not  designed  for  me 
When  our  blessed  mother  left  thee,  a  lisping  child,  and  I  child  in 
years,  I  felt  myself  suddenly  transformed  into  a  woman.  Childish 
sports  delighted  me  no  longer.  I  watched  every  thought  and  feeling 
of  thine,  and  prayed  day  and  night  for  blessings  upon  thee.  I  prayed 
for  life,  only  that  I  might  rear  thee  to  virtue  and  goodness — might 
assist  in  making  thee  what  oar  mother  so  fervently  desired.  Thou 
wert  the  idol  of  my  affections.  My  sister,  siater,  (and  the  tears 
gushed  to  her  eyes)  even  now  I  sometimes  shrink  from  the  grave 
because  thou  wilt  not  go  with  me.  Often  do  I  feel  willing  to  relin 
quish  for  a  time  that  eternity  of  glory  and  happiness  that  is  per 
petually  urging  me  away,  that  I  may  wait  to  see  thee  firmer  grounded 
in  the  faith,  and  thy  principles  more  clearly  and  distinctly  formed." 
"Alice,  I  sometimes  fear  we  may  be  ia  an  error — that  the  doctrine 
we  have  embraced  may  be  one  that  will  lead,  not  only  to  sorrow  on 
earth,  but  eternal  misery  hereafter." 

"  Dearest  Ann,"  said  Alice,  clasping  her  thin  fingers  together, 
"  thou  must  watch  and  pray,  that  the  great  source  and  Author  of  all 
truth  will  enlighten  thy  understanding,  and  lead  thee  into  all  truth. 
It  is  only  by  watching  and  prayer  that  thy  faith  will  be  strengthened.'' 
"But  Alice,  love,  thou  dost  reverence  our  mother,  and  she  taught 
thee  to  kneel  before  the  blessed  Mary,  and  to  obey  all  the  require 
ments  of  the  Holy  Church." 

"  Oh  speak  not  so,  Ann — call  not  that  holy,  that  is  full  of  all  im 
purity.  Can  that  be  a  just  interpretation  of  the  doctrines  of  the 
meek  and  the  Holy  Jesus,  the  founder  of  the  Gospel  ef  peace,  that 
warrants  the  persecution,  the  torturing  and  death  of  his  suffering 
fellowers  V 

"  But  if  we  really  have  embraced  a  false  doctrine,  we  are  lost  for 
ever;  whereas,  according  to  the  Romish  faith,  by  obedience  to  its 
requirements,  eternal  felicity  is  assured  us.  Would  it  not  be  pafer, 
sister,  to  adhere  to  it  T' 


"  Our  Heavenly  Father  is  not  to  be  cheated  by  hypocritical  pre 
tences;  we  cannot  be  smuggled  into  Heaven,  sister/'  said  Alice, 
with  a  faint  smile;  "there  can  be  no  true  religion  only  as  it  springs 
warmly  and  unhesitatingly  from  the  heart.  It  is  not  in  the  name, 
iut  in  the  inward  feeling.  Oh,  Ann,  do  not  rest  in  doubt,  but  search 
the  Scriptures,  and  y  that  thy  faith  may  be  strengthened." 

She  turned  her  face  upon  her  pillow,  and  panted  with  exhaustion. 
"Oh,  Alice,"  cried  Ann,  "you  are  dying!     Let  me  summon  a 
priest  to  grant  thee  the  last  rites  of  the  church." 

Alice  shook  her  head  sorrowfully.  "  Oh,  Father,  thy  will  be 
done :  spare  me  this  trial.  Lether  not  reject  thy  blessed  Gospel  But 
thine  is  the  work,  and  I  leave  all  with  thee." 

The  aged  nurse,  who  had  first  led  the  orphan  sisters  to  the  contem 
plation  of  the  doctrines  cf  the  reformers  now  drew  nigh,  and  knelt 
by  the  bed  side.  The  tears  streamed  down  her  aged  cheeks,  and 
she  poured  forth  in  the  simple  fervent  language  of  a  pious  heart, 
those  sublime  truths,  and  holy  aspiration?,  calculated  to  calm  and 
elevate  the  mind  in  the  last  fearful  hour  of  trial.  Blessed  Gospel ! 
equal  to  the  powers  of  the  most  exalted  intellect,  and  yet  adapting 
itself  to  the  wants  and  comprehension  of  the  humblest  capacity.  Old 
Sarah  could  boast  of  little  worldly  knowledge,  but  that  wisdom 
which  is  from  above  had  occupied  the  waste  places  of  her  really  Wg- 
orous  mind,  and  the  budding  of  those  flowers  whose  perfection  is  ia 
the  Paradise  of  God,  had  in  the  language  of  the  Scriptures,  made  '  the 
desert  to  blossom  as  the  rose.'  The  deep,  tremulous,  heart-felt  tones 
of  that  prayer  ascended  from  the  hashed  room,  and  the  Angel  of 
death  still  delayed  his  mission.  The  voice  of  the  speaker  ceased — 
she  moistened  the  parched  lips  of  the  sufferer — and  stood  motionless 
by.  Even  the  sobbing  of  Ann  was  hushed,  as  she  stood  looking  oa 
the  placid  face  of  the  dying  girl.  Her  eyes  were  slightly  raised — 
her  breathing  thick  and  labored. 

She  turned  to  her  sister,  "  Ann,  watch  and  pray  I  beseech  thee — 
never  till  this  moment  did  I  realize  the  force  of  that  respoase,  'Lord, 
when  saw  we  thee  naked  and  athirst,  a  stranger,  sick,  or  ia  prisou, 
and  ministered  unto  thee1.'  O !  Ann,  Ann  I  see  myself  with  new  eyes 
;very  thought,  every  motion,  every  action,  from  childhood  up,  is 
stamped  in  burning  characters  upon  my  soul,  and  make  it  what  it  is. 
I  look  into  my  very  soul — things  long  since  forgotten,  for  years  ob 
literated  from  the  memory,  rise  up  with  more  than  the  freshness  of 
yesterday.  Awful,  mysterious  power  of  thought  that  seem'st  to  flit 
tracelessly  over  the  mind,  but  is  still  noiselessly  and  carefully  gar 
nering  everything  into  its  treasury,  there  to  remain  indestructable — 
eternal — at  some  period,  as  now — all — all,  is  to  be  spread  out  before 
u?,  to  teach  us  our  weakness  and  frailty,  or  to  appal  us  with  the  con 
templation  of  the  character  we  have  inscribed  upon  the  undying 
soul.  Ann— beware  of  thy  thoughts,  they  will  finally  decide  the 
character  of  the  soul — we  shall  not  be  judged  by  isolated  deeds,  only 
so  far  as  they  indicate  the  cast  of  that  part  which  is  truly  ourselves." 
Shs  paused — and  her  face  assumed  a  saint-like  radiance,  as  she 
exclaim  d — ' '  Blessed  Saviour— when  I  look  at  myself,  how  imper 
fect — how  unholy  do  I  appear — but  I  look  away  to  thee,  and  I  feel 
that  I  am  washed  in  thy  sacred  blood.  And  now  I  pass  through  the 
dark  valley,  and  I  fear  no  evil,  for  thou  art  with  me." 

Her  eyes  closed — there  was  a  slight  shiver — a  faint  gasp,  and  a 
saint  hid  passed  to  her  eternal  rest  ! 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  body  of  Alice  had  been  prayerfully  consigned  to  its  kindred 
dust,  and  the  simple  household  arrangements  of  the  small  family  re 
sumed  the  usual  monotonous  regularity,  common  to  neatness  and 
good  order. 

The  sickness  of  Alice  as  well  as  the  peculiar  doctrines  the  sisters 
had  embraced,  combined  with  pecuniary  embarrassments,  had  all 
tended  to  consign  them  to  obscurity,  and  poor  Ann  in  the  very  spring 
time  of  life,  was  overwhelmed  with  an  afil!ction  that  left  her  friend 
less  in  her  solitude,  save  the  kind-hearted  nurse.  She  would  spread 
her  sister's^  garments  before  her,  take  from  their  depository  the  little 
mementos  that  most  forcibly  brought  her  to  her  recollection,  and  then 
abandon  herself  to  the  uncontrollable  grief  of  a  young  and  suscep 
tible  heart.  She  dwelt  upon  her  last  words,  her  last  look — and  kselt 
and  prayed  in  the  anguish  of  a  stricken  epirit.  She  would  throw 
herself  upon  the  bed,  in  the  hope  that  her  sister  might  visit  her  in 
dreams.  She  even  sometimes  thought  the  fervency  of  her  prayers 
might  work  a  miracle  in  her  behalf,  and  her  sister  appear  visibly  be 
fore  herself,  to  speak  the  words  of  consolation.  She  remembered 
her  former  vanity,  her  former  dislike  of  their  retired  mode  of  life,  to 
detest  her  heartleasness  and  folly.  She  thought  now  she  couid  nerer 


CAPTIVE. 


THE     NEW     WORLD 


41 


fe 


me  once  felt,  if  occasionally  the  ima»e  of  the  young  cava 
lier  crossed  her  imagination,  it  was  bjnished  with  a  chastened  sigh, 
and  a  wonder  at  her  former  susceptibility.  Every  day  beheld  her  at 
her  sister's  grave,  and  she  passed  to  it,  through  the  crowded  thorough 
fares  of  the  city,  unconscious  that  her  extreme  grief  and  listless  step 
were  attracting  all  observers.  She  did  not  so  much  as  raise  her  eyes 
from  the  ground.  She  passed  silently  along,  and  when  arrived,  rested 


thousand  fearful  fantasies.  Bewildered  with  her  own  reflections  and 
watching,  she  began  to  fear  the  handsome  stranger,  who  had  so 
mysteriously  befriend  her,  might  be  none  other  than  the  Prince 
of  darkness,  come  on  purpose  to  mislead  her,  for  she  well  knew 
jue  had  the  power  to  assume  the  appearance  of  an  Angel  of  light.  She 
had  heard  the  old  men  of  their  persuasion  tell  how  often  he  hid 
made  his  appearance  bodily  to  the  saints,  in  consequence  of  their 
ept  as  one  would  weep  who;  neglect  of  fasting  and  prayer,  or  because  they  had  dared  to  embrace 

felt  there  was  none  on  earth  to  love.     There  she  sat  till  old  Sarah  j ,  doctrines  which  he  had  good  reason  for  hating  •  then   too 

came,  and  placed  her  arms  about  her,  and  as  tenderly  as  one  would  Imembered  how  the  int      'H  T    id 

lead  a  sick  child,  bore  her  to  their  dwelling.  |  jhow  he  appeared  visibly  before  him  to" confound'  hi«  rthlrtOM^ 


It  cannot  be  supposed  that  s-ach  grief  would  fail  to  work  fearfully 
upon  the  health  of  the  yovng  girl.     She  bent  like  the  reed  that  in 


jsomngs,  or  to  hinder  his  glorious  plan  of  reform  by  engagiog  him  in 
(useless  and  dangerous  discussions,  or  striving  to  withdraw  him  from 


clmss  us  slender  stem  to  the  gliding  water.,  and  the  blue  veins  be-ljhis  purpose,  by  exhibiting  before  him  all  the  fantastic  grandeur  of 
came  too  beautifully  distinct  upon  the  clear  cheek  and  brow,  and  the ;  |  diabolical  representations;  how  he  would  not  leave  him  but  kept  by 
small  hand  and  foot  assumed  a  child-like  diminutiveness.  And  those  |j  his  side  in  his  hours  of  meditation,  study,  and  rest  till  the  gocd  man 
deep,  dark  and  loving  eyes  were  half  veiled  by  .he  drooping  lid,  as  if  declared  his  face  to  be  as  familiar  to  him  as  that'of  his  own  wife 
they  would  shut  out  the  external  world.  I  No  wonder  that  a  lone  girl,  in  memory  of  all  these  things,  should 

Once,  when  she  had  go;ie  to  rest  by  the  grave  of  all  she  had  known  j  tremble  like  an  aspen  with  excess  of  terror.  When  the  heavy  bell 
how  to  love  on  earth,  the  shadows  of  twilight  began  to  gather  around  j  tolled  the  hour  of  midnight,  she  covered  her  head  and  lay  pantiog, 
her,  and  her  hair  fell  in  damp  heavy  masses  about  her  head  and ;  ( Tearful  that  the  least  motion  might  develope  some  frightful  vision 
shoulders— still  she  rose  not  to  depart,  for  an  apathy  had  crept  over  t|  or  appalling  sound,  or  her  limbs  be  seized  by  invisible  hand*, 
her  soul,  and  her  young  spirit  was  crushed  by  the  blighting  of  early  i  Even  the  slight  motion  of  the  bedding  caused  by  her  quick  short 
hopes,  and  her  powerless  limbs  seemed  incapable  of  voluntary  mo- [[breath,  seemed  to  her  excited  imagination  the  play  of  mysterious 
tion.  Where  was  Sarah  1  Had  she  forgotten  the  heart-broken  girl,  angers ;  and  she  could  scarcely  suppress  a  scream,  so  utterly  had  she 
and  left  her  to  struggle  alone  with  a  grief  that  had  nearly  deprived  |:  become  bewildered  by  superstitious  fears.  In  this  age  of  enlightened 
her  of  reason!  Ann  observed  not  the  omission— and  when  a  gen-;; reason,  and  sober  common  sense,  we  can  scarcely  realize  the  pre- 
tle  hand  raised  her  from  the  ground  and  supported  her  feeble  |  ponderance  of  such  superstitions  among  men,  who  were  at  the  same 
steps,  she  did  not  at  first  observe  that  the  arm  that  supported  her!  time  catering  the  stronghold  of  bigotry  and  error,  tearing  up  the  very 
trembled  violently,  and  that  old  Sarah  had  uttered  no  word  of  endear-  i  foundation  of  priestly  influence  and  church  supremacy,  and  free- 
ment — but  the  poor  girl  so  sensitively  alive  to  every  emotion  connect- !  |  ing  the  world  from  the  shackles  which  had  been  for  ages  binding  the 
ed  with  this  last  friend  and  comforter,  instantly  felt  the  necessity  of  I  consciences  and  opinions  of  men.  But  so  it  is — man  demolishes 
restraining  her  own  grief  where  it  affected  so  strongly  her  aged  at-  ;  one  stronghold  of  error  only  to  defend  another  with  the  more  per- 
tendant.  She  raised  her  slight  form  from  its  support,  saying,  "  I  have  :  tinacity. 

done  wrong,  Sarah,  in  that  I  have  selfishly  indulged  in  my  own  grief  II  At  length,  like  a  holy  spall,  returned  the  memory  of  Alice— the 
while  you  are  sick  with  fatigue  and  anxiety.  I  will  do  so  no  more  {memory  of  her  sanctity  and  innocence  became  an  antidote  to  her 
Bat  can  I  live  in  this  dreary — dreary  world  1"  ' '  gloomy  fears.  She  remembered  her  sister's  dying  counsel,  and  felt 

"Pardon,  gentle  lady,"  said  a  deep,  manly  voice.  Ann  paused,  }as  'fher  presence  would  shield  her  from  harm.  Clasping  her  hands, 
drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  and  all  her  helplessness  gave  way  i  sne  P°ured  out  the  simple  prayer  of  a  young  and  trusting  heart,  and 
to  the  necessity  for  instant  exertion.  It  may  be,  that  a  sense  of  lone-  ere  the  close  died  uPon  her  1JPS» the  <luiet  breathing,  and  child-like 
liness  of  her  situation  at  the  dim  hour  in  the  partially-deserted  streets, ;  placidity  of  countenance  announced,  thatt  he  anxieties  of  the  maiden 
might  have  impelled  her  to  accept  with  courtesy  the  only  protection  !had  found  oblivi°n  i«  sleep. 

afforded,  or,  the  respectful  attitude  of  the  young  stranger  might  natu-  j  j  Day  by  day  old  Sarah  marvelled  at  the  rapid  improvement  of  her 
rally  have  inspired  confidence,  or  that  she  detected  a  resemblance  be-  ji  young  mistress's  health.  Her  grief,  which  had  hitherto  been  so  ab- 
tween  her  elegant  companion  and  the  young  cavalier  she  had  before  sorbing,  as  to  unfit  her  for  the  simplest  arrangements  of  her  person 


seen;  which  of  these  decided  the  conduct  of  the  maiden  I  will  sot 
take  upon  myself  to  determine.  She  presented  her  hand,  frankly; 
*'I  cannot  believe  any  unworthy  motive  could  induce  a  stranger  to 
shield  a  helpless  and  suffering  matden,  and  I  thankfully  accept  thy 
protection." 

The  youth  pressed  her  hand  respectfully.  "The  Holy  Mother 
bless  thee  for  thy  charity,  gentle  maiden,"  said  the  youth.  Ann, 
grateful  for  his  proffered  support,  soon  reached  her  home,  where  she 
found  old  Sarah,  exhausted  with  fatigue,  and  weary  with  constant 
watching,  had  fallen  asleep  on  the  threshold,  where  she  had  stationed 
herself  to'  wait  the  return  of  Ann.  Bitterly  did  the  poor  girl  re 
proach  herself  with  the  sin  of  heartlessly  sorrowing  for  the  dead, 
while  the  living  called  for  her  kindness  and  sympathy.  The  stranger 


or  household,  seemed  now  a  quiet  melancholy,  according  well  with 
her  fine  features,  and  elegant  stature.  And  even  once,  when  Ann 
sat  by  the  window  conning  oae  of  those  antique  tomes  in  which  she 
delighted,  she  observed  a  stranger  pass  and  respectfully  raise  his  bea 
ver  to  her  young  mistress,  whom  she  instantly  recognized  as  the  one 
who  had  so  kindly  assisted  her  from  the  grave  of  Alice.  She  ob 
served,  too,  the  young  girl  colored  deeply,  and  returned  his  salute 
with  a  smile,  and  then  glancing  at  her  reflection  in  the  mirror,  flung 
back  her  abundant  hair  with  a  gratified  manner.  "There  now," 
cried  Sarah,  "you  looked  then  just  as  you  used  to  look,  when  you 
used  to  braid  your  hair,  and  b:  merry  all  day." 

Ann  instantly  felt  the  vanity  she  had  betrayed,  and  replied  with  a 
desponding  air,  "Ah,  Sarah,  I  shall  never  be  like  Alice,  she  was  al- 


bent  one  knee,  according  to  the  etiquette  of  the  day,  pressed  the  dam-    ways  so  discreet,  so  noble,  and  womanly ;"  but  as  she  looked  round 

for  hsr  domestic  she  had  disappeared.  What  was  her  consternation 
when,  a  moment  after,  Sarah  entered  in  breathless  eagerness,  ex 
claiming,  "Oh,  Ann,  he  will  be  here  in  a  moment:  he  said  he 
would." 

«  Who— what  1"  cried  Ann,  sinking  back  into  her  chair,  as  the 
truth  flashed  upon  her  mind. 

"I  only  told  him,"  died  Sarah,  eager  ;o  excdpaie  herself,  "  tl.at 
hs  had  been  like  an  angel  of  mercy  to  my  young  mistres-,  aad  I 
begged — 

"And  what  did  he  say  P  gasped  Ann. 

"He  asked  if  my  lady  sent  me—" 

Ann's  lip  curled  in  scorn. 
There,  now  you  don't  look  like  yourself,  Ann,"  i 


sel's  hand  to  his  lips,  and  departed. 

That  night  a  thousand  strange  fancies  made  it  impossible  for  poor 
Ann  to  sleep.  The  memory  of  her  sister,  that  had  hitherto  been 
uppermost  in  h^r  thoughts,  she  found  constantly  displaced  by  the  re 
collection  of  the  young  stranger  who  had  so  kindly  befriended  her  in 
her  loneliness  and  sorrow.  She  would  summon  her  thoughts  from 
their  long  wandering  in  this  too  agreeable  track,  and  strive  to  recall 
the  memory  of  the  kind,  faithful  friendof  her  early  life  ;  the  good  sis- 
ter,  who  had  sacrificed  all  the  joyousness  cf  childhood,  and  the  flush 
of  youthfulness  and  health  to  devote  all  her  energies,  all  her  affec- 
tions,  to  the  little  orphan  sister  thrown  upon  her  charge.  And  now 
that  she  had  gone  to  her  early  grave,  it  were  treason  to  her  memory 
to  allow  a  stranger  thus  to  crowd  her  from  her  thoughts.  Poor  Ann 


had  never  endured  such  a  contest  in  her  young  heart,  and  much  did||in  a  sorrowful  voice,  which  was  later  rap  ted  by  tl 
she  feel  the  need  of  a  friend  to  whom  she  might  commit  this  intricate !  'Stranger.    Sarah  ushered  him  in  with  a 

As  night  deepened,  and  th-  pale  rays  of  the>ne  who  has  a  s-lf-iafficfed  and  somewhat  dis, 


subject  of  casuistry. 

wanin 

with 

over 


aning  moon    stole    through  the   windows,   investing  everything    perform.  Chmteur  and 

th  a  wan,  flickering  light,  aa  awe  almost  amounting  to  terror  crept !  \     Ann  threw  back  her  pretty  head  with  so 
er  the  lonejfirl,  and  the  dark  superstition  of  the  age  conjured  up  a 'with  a  flushed  cheek,  and  trembling  hand,  I* 


THE     NEW     WORLD. 


For  a  moment  both  were  too  much  embarrassed  to  speak,  but  the 
stranger  was  evidently  too  much  a  man  of  the  world,  to  be  long  at  a 
loss  in  the  presence  of  a  maiden  of  scarcely  fifteen.  Some  gracefully- 
turned  remarks  relative  to  her  health,  and  its  apparent  improvement, 
caused  the  blood  to  rush  to  the  temples  of  the  maiden,  and  she 
rose  and  flung  open  the  lattice  to  relieve  the  momentary  sense  of 
suffocation,  uttering,  almost  indistinctly,  a  hope  that  the  freedom  of 
the  nurse  might  not  be  interpreted  to  the  disadvantage  of  the  mistress. 
"  I  owe  her  many  thanks,"  replied  the  stranger,  warmly,  "she  has 
severed  the  Gcrdian  knot  I  had  in  vain  essayed  to  untie.  Hoio  else 
should  I  have  been  admitted  to  your  gentle  presence  1" 

"  I  told  you  so,"  cried  Sarah,  starting  from  her  seat,  like  many  a 
one  besides,  forgetting  that  till  that  moment  the  evidence  of  such  a 
conviction  had  never  passed  her  lips. 

Ann  shook  her  head  gravely,  and  the  good  creature  shrunk  back 
astonished  at  the  unforeseen  dignity  of  the  young  girl. 

"I  pray  thee,"  said  the  stranger,  "for  my  sake  pardon  the  good 
woman,  she  must  not  suffer  reproach  for  what  I  would  fain  return  so 
many  thanks." 

Ann  repressed  the  expression  of  pleasure  that  almost  stole  over  her 
face  at  the  fhttering  remarks  of  the  stranger,  for  they  struck  her  us 
being  somewhat  familiar,  and  she  replied,  calmly,  "  It  is  ill  to  com 
plain  at  what  cannot  be  remedied,  we  must  only  be  careful  that  our 
own  demeanor  justify  not  any  imputation  caused  by  the  thoughtless 
ness  of  others." 

"  Nay,  by  Riy  troth,  thou  wrongest  thyself  and  me,  lady,  and  I  pray 
thee  to  believe  no  sentiment  unworthy  a  true  knight,  hath  for  a  mo 
ment  entered  my  breast." 

The  earnestness  and  sincerity  of  the  stranger's  manner  carried 
their  full  conviction  to  tha  judgment  of  the  lady,  aided  no  doubt  by 
ih-e  ease  of  his  address  and  the  beauty  of  his  person.  She  secretly 
absolved  him  from  every  imputation  of  blame,  and  in  her  heart 
thought,  after  all,  the  offence  of  Sarah  was  not  so  very  heinou3s 
though,  for  her  womanhood  she  would  not  have  confessed  so  much 
If  our  readers  should  any  of  them  accuse  the  maiden  of  levity  or  in 
sincerity,  we  beg  them  to  look  into  their  own  hearts,  if  about  fifteen, 
or  if  older,  endeavor  to  turn  back  the  pages  of  the  past,  and  see  if  at 
that  age  of  truth  and  hope,  and  girlish  vanity,  their  feelings  might  not 
hare  been  somewhat  similar. 

The  more  Ann  listened  to  the  agreeable  conversation  of  the  stranger, 
the  more  nataral  it  appeared  to  her  that  he  should  desire  to  be  per- 
eonally  known  to  her,  and  how  could  it  ever  have  been  brought  about 
•without  the  straight-forward  simplicity  of  kind  old  Sarah.  Still  the 
idea  was  monstrous,  and  she  would  not  dwell  upon  it. 


not  been  born  a  neble  maides,  that  she  might  glory  in  laying  all  at 


the  feet  of  her  lover,  and  like  some  errant  damsel,  go  out  into  the 
!  pathless  woods  and  baild  up  a  lodge  there,  sacred  to  love  and  qui- 


CHPTER  III. 

WE  may  not  tell  how  rapidly  time  glided  away  with  the  now 
hoping,  trusting,  and  loving  Ann.  The  grave  of  poor  Alice  became 
nearly  deserted,  so  surely  doss  the  intervention  of  one  strong  passion 
weaken  the  vehemence  of  another.  In  the  gentleness  of  her  nature, 
she  would  sometimes  upbraid  herself  with  heartlessness,  and  ingrati 
tude,  in  permitting  a  stranger  to  u? urp  that  place  in  her  heart  that  had 
hitherto  been  sacred  only  to  sisterly  love.  She  scarcely  dared  seek  to 
know  the  state  of  her  young  heart.  The  present  was  so  delicious,  so 
full  of  hope  and  happiness  and  love,  that  she  feared  to  penetrate  the 


etude.  Could  the  youth  silence  the  guileless  and  eloquent  girl,  as 
she  dwelt  on  themes  so  gratifying  to  a  level's  ear,  by  infusing  into 
her  young  and  trusting  mind  the  sordid  and  calculating  policy  of 
the  heartless  world  1 

Ann  reasoned  as  a  girl  of  fifteen  would  be  pretty  likely  to  reason* 
where  the  judgment  asked  counsel  of  the  heart  ralher  than  the  head. 
Sometimes  in  her  lover's  absence,  her  woman's  pride  would  spurn 
the  degradation  of  blending  her  destiny  with  those  who  might  con 
sider  her  an  interloper,  might  insinuate  that  ambitien,  rather  than 
love,  had  been  the  motive  with  the  young  girl.  With  a  flushed 
cheek,  her  lip  would  curl,  and  her  form  dilate  with  the  dignity  and 
indignation  of  girlhood ;  but  the  deep,  kind  tones  of  her  lover's  voice, 
hia  manly  beauty,  his  protecting  tendernei=s  diipelled  all — the  tears 
would  gush  to  her  eyes,  and  she  was  again  the  same  gentle,  lov 
ing,  trusting  Ann  of  other  days. 

If  the  beauty,  the  accomplishments  and  grace  of  Edward  Court- 
aey,  the  yosng  Earl  of  Devonshire,  had  found  their  way  to  the  heart 
of  the  callous  Mary  of  England,  and  stirred  for  the  first  time  that 
ever-abiding  fountain  of  woman's  love,  that  so  scantily  swelled  up  in 
•  her  cruel  and  bigoted  nature;  and  even  passed  over  the  fancy  of  the 
young  and  high-minded  Elizabeth,  like  the  faint  stirring  of  the  lap 
wing's  pinioBs  over  the  deep  still  waters  of  the  wilderness  ;  can  it  be 
wondered,  that  when  he  turned  in  disgust  from  the  glittering  crown 
proffered  by  age,  bigotry  and  weakness,  and  crushed  the  aspiring  of 
hope  and  love  where  it  dared  to  look  upon  the  heiress  of  a  crown ; 
and  with  all  the  fascinations  of  manner,  the  graces  of  exalted  station, 
and  the  romance  of  a  chivalrous  mind,  bent  in  the  guise  of  love  be 
fore  a  yoHiig  and  solitary  maiden,  that  he  should  succeed  in  binding 
her  young  heart  to  his  with  all  the  devotion  of  woman's  first  love  1 

Courtney  knew  the  malice  of  Mary  would  pursue  him  even  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth — he  knew  a  woman  scorned  as  she  had  been,  would 
not  lightly  forego  her  revenge.  Though  the  proud  blood  of  the  ancient 
house  of  York  might  have  urged  him  to  foster  aspiring  dreams  and 
engage  in  ambitious  projects,  he  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  suggestions  so- 
dangerous  :  a  life  of  captivity  had  taught  him  to  lightly  esteem  hered 
itary  honors  and  adventitious'  distinctions,  and  he  left  the  competi 
tors  in  the  great  race-ground  of  ambition  to  hurry  on  in  their  eager 
career,  undisturbed  by  any  competition  from  himself.  From  motives 
like  these,  he  had  turned  from  the  beauties  of  the  court  of  Mary,  for 
there  he  well  knew  ths  malignity  of  his  sovereign  would  be  sure  to 
infuse  the  dregs  of  bitterness  into  the  sweet  cup  of  domestic  happi 
ness.  But  the  gentle,  the  unoffending  Ann,  he  thought,  might  surely 
escape  the  envy  and  jealousy  of  the  Queen.  He  could  not  calculate 
the  consequences  of  pride,  exasperated  ta  find  itself  superseded  by 
one  so  young  and  comparatively  humble.  The  beauty,  too,  of  the 
lone  girl  served  to  aggravate  the  offence,  for  how  could  age  pardon 
youth  and  beauty  which  had,  inadvertently  indeed,  but  not  the  less 
dashed  the  bowl  of  love  from  the  palsied  hands  of  age. 

The  emissaries  of  Mary  had  watched  every  motion  of  the  lovers, 
and  the  haughty  and  intolerant  woman  resolved  to  suspend  the  blow- 
till  it  should  fall  surely  and  fatally— till  its  stroke  should  not  only  de 


future  lest  it  should  prove  all  an  illusion.     All  was  so  new-seemed    troy,  but  torture  the  victim.     When  the  Eirl  ceased  to  be  the  object 

mptimps  anrcud  out  to  the  ,  of  tenderness  to  the  Queen,  he  became  the  victim  of  her  stern  unre- 


so  like  that  ideal  world  that  had  been  sometimes  spread  out  to  the 
fancy  of  the  young  girl  in  her  lonely  musings,  or  like  the  ancient  le 
gends  in  which  she  delighted,  that  she  feared  to  unclose  her  eyes 
lest,  like  the  viaions  of  her  own  brain  or  the  story  of  romance,  the 
reality  should  slowly  recede  and  leave  her  to  loneliness  and  sorrow. 
True,  her  path  was  shrouded  in  doubt  and  mystery,  but  to  ihe  sim 
ple-hearted  girl  everything  seemed  so  easy,  and  obstacles  so  trifling 
compared  with  the  fervency  of  that  love  which  glowed  so  warmly  in 
her  own  bosom,  that  a  happy  termiaation  seemed  not  only  possible, 
but  easily  practicable.  It  is  possible  she  infused  a  part  of  her 
young  hopefulness  into  tHe  spirit  of  her  fcver,  who  shrunk  from  the 
task  of  repelling  a  love  so  dangerous,  and  yet  PO  gratifying  to  the 
human  heart,  ere  the  world  has  taught  it  to  be  callous  and  calculat 
ing.  Then,  could  he  throw  the  shadows  of  gloomy  doubt  over  a 
spirit  so  fresh,  so  trusting,  so  all  his  own  1 

True,  he  had  gently  hinted  of  the  pain  of  a  monarch's  displeasure, 
the  renunciation  of  wealth  and  rank — but  to  the  unsophisticated 
girl,  what  were  these  1  That  anger  might  be  appeased — and  what 
were  the  trappings  of  wealth,  the  gewgaws  of  titles,  compared  with  the 
quietude  of  domestic  bliss,  the  welling  up  of  a  perpetual  foustain  of 


lenting  vengeance.     ' 

The  wax  tapers  shed  a  pale  flickering  light  through  the  long  aisles 
and  high  arches  of  the  church,  and  the  gothic  tracery  of  (he  large 
windows,  with  the  small  stained  glass,  the  clustered  columns,  high 
and  massive,  half  shadowed  by  the  dim  lights;  above  all,  the  hol 
low  echo  of  the  Earl's  footsteps  as  they  advanced  up  the  aisle  and 
knelt  at  the  foot  of  the  altar,  al1  tended  to  bewilder  and  terrify  the 
timid  Ann,  so  that  she  clung  almost  breathless  and  fainting  to  the 
arm  of  her  companion.  For  the  first  time  the  conviction  crossed  her 
mind,  that  the  ceremony  of  their  bridal  was  to  be  performed  accord 
ing  to  the  rites  of  the  Catholic  Church — the  last  wcrds  of  Alice — 
the  fearful  language  of  Scripture,  "  He  that  denieth  me  before  man, 
him  will  I  also  deny  before  my  Father  and  his  holy  angels,"  rushed 
to  her  mind ;  she  sunk  down  at  the  foot  of  the  altar,  utterly  overcome 
by  the  power  of  her  own  reflections.  Courtney  raised  her  in  his 
arms,  whispered  words  of  tenderness  in  her  ears,  but  she  replied 
only  by  sighs,  deep  and  rending.  He  dashed  water  from  the  font, 
upon  her  face,  and  threw  back  the  masses  of  hair,  that  in  her  agony 
had  slipped  from  their  confinement.  He  started  at  the  utter  misery 


love  to  gladden  the  waste  places  of  fcolitude  1     To  her  they  were  i  depicted  upon  her  countenance — '« I  am  an  apostate,"  she  murmured 
Jess  than  the  dust  of  the  balance;  and  she  half  sighed  that  she  had    —the  F,arl  started  as  if  a  dagger  had  pierced  his  heart— he  saw  a 


CAPTIVE. 


THE     NEW     WORLD. 


suspicious  smile  flit  over  the  face  of  the  priest,  and  glancing  at  the  1  obeyed.     Telling  Ann  not  to  wait  his  return,  without  informing  her 
groups  whom  curiosity  had  assembled,  besides  hij  own  few  attend-     as  to  the  motive  of  his  absence,  he  departed. 

ants,  he  observed  a  tall,  thin,  mufti  fd  figure,  whose  air,  however  her        When  he  had  gone,  Ann  sat  long  mueing,  in  the  position  he  had 
dress  might  be,  could  not  be  disguised.     He  felt  it  to  be  the  Queen,     left  her.     One   hand  had  dropped  beside  her,  and  itd  wluenes*  was 

In  a  few  hurried  words  he  conjured  Ann  to  summon  all  her  energy  finely  contrasted  with  the  dark,  crimson  robe,  that  hung  in  rich  folds 
for  the  ceremony.  The  poor  girl  raised  her  head,  pale,  and  throb-  ;  about  her.  One  foot  lightly  pressed  a  stool,  and  her  babe  weary 
b;ng  with  anguish,  and  obedient  to  that  voice  which  from  henceforth  with  playing,  had  sunk  to  sleep  upon  her  lap  with  one  dimpled  hand 
was  to  be  to  her  like  that  of  the  lone  bird  of  night  to  the  still  star?,  pressed  in  its  mother's  jewelled  fiugers.  Her  robe  was  unclasped 
bowed  herself  before  the  altar,  and  responded  to  those  mystic  words  nearly  to  the  girdle,  as  if  the  lips  of  the  child  had  been  nestling  there, 
that  bound  her  destiny  for  ever  to  him  who  had  her  whole  heart.  ,j  and  the  head  thrown  back,  and  the  slightly-inclined  position  of  the 
The  rich  tones  of  the  organ  swelled  through  the  high  vault,  and  ;j  body,  exhibited  in  beautiful  relief  the  delicate  curve  of  the  finely 
one  by  one  the  spectators  followed  the  bridal  group  down  the  chiselled  neck,  and  the  noble  contour  of  the  elegantly  moulded  bust, 
long  aisles  of  the  church.  Who,  that  had  witnessed  that  cere-  Her  countenance  was  fora  moment  sad,  the  touching  sadness  of 
many,  would  have  deemed  that  a  relic  of  a  proud  and  regal  house  early  maternity,  as  though  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  had  fallen  upon 
was  uniting  his  destiny  with  that  fair  but  obscure  maiden,  surround-  \ ',  clustering  roses,  scattering  the  brilliancy  of  their  beauty,  without  re 
ed  by  aone  of  the  gorgeous  trappings  of  princely  wealth,  with  no.  moving  their  liveliness.  But  her  native  hopefulness  returned,  and 
more  ostentation  than  the  simplest  lovers  of  humble  life.  It  may  be  !  gradually  the  smile  played  about  her  lips,  and  the  sparkles,  clustered 
that  such  thoughts  crossed  the  mind  of  the  Earl  as  he  passed  down  !j  to  a  deep  holy  look  of  unutterable,  and  almost  oppressive  sense  of 
the  aisle,  for  his  brow  was  observed  to  contract,  and  Ann  felt  him  j;  happiness,  beamed  from  htr  deep  intellectual  eye.  She  raised  the 
raise  his  proud  form  to  even  its  full  height,  and  as  she  timidly  raised  !  babe  to  her  bosom,  and  g->  zed  fondly  in  its  face  ;  her  rich  cnrls  fell 
her  eyes  to  his  face,  she  half  shrunk  from  his  haughty  glance.  Court- ! !  upon  its  dimpled  cheek  and  disturbed  its  si  umbers — the  little  hand 
ney  perceived  it,  and  he  sustained  her  shrinking  form  with  more  ten-  j  impatiently  played  about  its  face,  and  it  half  uttered  a  sleeping  cry. 
derness,  and  gently  pressed  the  small  hand  that  rested  on  his  arm.  jjln  ai*  instant,  the  ready  smile  lightened  every  feature  of  the  young 
"  Alice  would  have  been  just  the  bride  for  him,  so  noble,  so  dis  :  mother,  and  she  half  smothered  it  with  kisses— its  dark,  laughing  eye 
creet,"  thought  poor  Ann,  as  the  consciousness  of  her  own  weakness;  unclosed,  ready  to  participate  in  the  frolicksome  mood  of  the  mother, 
and  tenderness  crossed  her  mind.  jj  An  attendant  came  forward  to  relieve  her  of  her  beautiful  charge, 

Hand  clasping  her  hands,  and  uttering  a  thousand  tender  epithets  in 

,  which  young  mothers  so  delight  to  indulge,  and  which  accord  so  well 

CHAPTER  IV.  II  with  their  girlish  featares,  ehe  retired  from  the  apartment. 

IT  was  the  intention  of  Courtney  to  seek  an  asylum  with  his  young 


It  is  unnecessary  to  detail  the  particulars  of  Courtney's  interview 
with  the  Queen.  Suffice  it  to  say,  the  beautiful  and  gentle-hearted 
Ann,  had  been  more  thin  suspected  of  entertaining  heretical  opinions, 
and  had  therefore  become  obnoxious  to  the  penalties  daily  inflicted 
by  the  zealous  commissioners  of  the  Queen,  whose  duty  it  was  to 
purge  the  land  from  heresies.  Inheriting  from  her  mother  the  haughty 


bride  among  the  exiled  Christians  of  his  country,  who  had  found  ai 
refuge  in  Frankfort,  protected  by  that  artful  policy  of  the  Emperor,  j 
that  induced  him  to  countenance,  or  to  persecute  the  reformers,  just! 
as  self-interest  swayed  the  balance.  Hare  Ann  might  indulge  her 
predilections  in  comparative  security,  while  he  himself  would  be 

beyond  the  reach  of  the  Queen's  malice.  Then  too  they  would  visit  the  j :  grp^t  0Fthe  Spaniard,  and  the  memory  of  her  past  wrongs  perpetually 
classic  shores  of  southern  Europe,  that  beautiful  and  glorious  land,  I;  rankllng  in  her  breast ;  imbibing,  likewise,  a  portion  of  the  same 
wherewere  colonades  and  fountains,  and  the  graceful  matron  reared  | :  spirit  from  her  husband,  Philip  II.  of  Spain,  and  feeling  herself  a 
her  sons  to  manliness  and  virtue,  ere  the  rude  barbarian  had  trod  upon  1 1  neglected  and  forsaken  wife,  with  affection  unrequited,  and  tender- 
her  hills,  desecrated  her  altars,  and  laid  hsr  glory  in  the  dust— ere  '  j  ness  s?urned  and  trampled  upon  ;  is  it  to  be  wondered  that  Maryfof 
the  pall  of  superstition  had  been  spread  over  the  beaatifu!,  the!  England  should  behold  with  envy  amounting  to  hatred,  the  happiness 
'  Eternal  City.'  But  Ann  dreaded  ta  desert  a  home  where  sorrow  ;  of  one  who  had  enraptured  a  heart  callous  only  to  herself!  A  more 
had  been  exchanged  for  so  much  bliss.  Then  the  grave  of  poor  Alice  i  j  gentje  and  womaaiy  being  would  have  looked  with  admiration  and 


was  another  tie  that  bound  her  to  her  paternal  land  ;  if  she  forsook  if, 
there  would  be  none  on  earth  to  ckerlsh  her  memory,  or  drop  a  tear 
sacred  to  the  gentle  sleeper  beneath.  That  horns,  where  her  young 
heart  had  drank  in  the  '  bird-like  '  melody  of  love,  had  become  a 
very  Paradise  to  her ;  the  household  gods  had  there  found  so  sweet 
a  Penatralia,  and  love  had  so  softly  folded  his  downy  pinions,  she  could 
not  lightly  bid  it  all  adieu,  and  .%o  oat  into  a  foreign  land.  She  felt 


that  home,  even  if  beset  by  dangers,  was  the  dearest  spot  to  a  woman's 


wonder  upon  an  earthly  Paradise  like  this,  and  while  she  felt  the- 
canker  gnawing  at  her  own  heart ,  would  for  a  moment  forget  its  pain 
in  view  of  this  one  blossom  of  Eden,  this  side  the  Paradise  of  God. 

With  a  heart  bleeding  with  anxiety,  the  H  irl  entered  the  chambe 
of  Ann.  She  was  sleeping.  He  drew  back  the  heavy  drapery,  and 
gazed  upon  her  features.  How  beautiful  is  the  sleep  of  an  inaoce  nt 
and  lovely  woman !  The  dark  hsh  shading  the  cheek,  the  calm 
brow  with  a  stray  tress  half  veiling  its  loveliness,  the  slightly  parted 
lips,  that  seemed  ready  to  utter  a  kind  word,  or  in  that  d»wy  fresh- 


heart.  ,_r_t 

Meanwhile  Courtney  received  a  summons  from  the  Queen.  He  ness  to  cs,n  the  dimples  about  them.  Ann  had  laid  the  cheek  of  her 
felt  it  portended  death  to  his  earthly  happiness.  As  Ann,  in  thelicniid  beside  her  own,  one  awn  encircled  it,  while  the  other  shaded 
gaiety  of  her  inmost  heart  tossed  her  beautiful  babe  in  his  face,  j  -hy  {ts  sn0wy  lawn,  rested  on  the  rich  counterpane.  He  paced  the 
brushed  back  the  dark  curls  from  his  pale  brow  and  tried  to  rally  !  chamber  with  hurried  footsteps,  and  pressed  his  hand  to  his  throb- 


him  from  his  temporary  gloom,  he  felt  the  sight  of  her  beauty  and 
vivacity  almost  maddening  ;  threatened,  as  he  too  well  knew  them  to 
b?,  with  danger  and  a  fearful  death. 

"  Ann,"  cried  the  Earl,  impatiently  disentangling  the  child's  grasp 
from  his  hair,  "  Why  will  you  not  hasten  cur  departure  ?  you  jeopar 
dize  our  lives  by  this  delay." 

Every  vestige  of  a  smile  faded  from  the  glad  features  of  Ann,  and 


bing  head.     Already  to  hU  perturbed  imagination,  the  rack  was  pre 
pared,  and  the  delicate  limbs  of  his  beau-iful  bride  were  wrenched 
from  their  sockets  ;  the  faggot  was  kindled,  and  he  saw  her  lovely 
features  blackened,  and  distorted  with  agony.     Unable  to  master  hi 
emotions,  the  celd  sweat  started  on   his  brow,  and  a  gush  of  tear 
wrung  out  by  the  agony  of  his  spirit,  came  to  hia  relief.     He  had 
thrown  himself  into  a  chair  and  rested  his  head  upon  the  pillow  of 


the  tear  startefl  to  her  eyes  at  the  unwonted  tone  of  her  husband's 
voice.  She  pressed  her  quivering  lips  to  the  baby's  cheek  to  conceal 
her  tears,  and  one  beautiful  arm  with  its  jewelled  clasps  fell  uncon 
sciously  on  the  Earl's  knee. 

"Nay,  nay,  love,  I  did  not  mean  to  chide— but  let  us  go,  Ann,  beyond 
the  reach  of  malice,  secure  from  these  awful  forebodings." 

"Any  where, "said  Ann,  raising  her  face  in  which  the  grace  of  wo-  'j  and  thou  wilt  subscribe  to  t 
manhood,  with  the  simplicity  of  childhood  were  beautifully  blended,:  Court,  and  all  will  yet  be  wdL 
"  if  thoa  wilt  never  speak  so  harshly  again." 

The  Earl  folded  her  to  his  bosom  with  unutterable  tenderness,  ^ 

distant  and  possible  danger  palpably  before  him,  and  made  him  half  ,|  have  passed  for 
feel  as  if  the  demons  of  superstition   and  the  minions  of  power,  were ;  j  agony  o 


Ann.     She  started  from  her  slumber,  alarmed  at  hi»  unwonted  mood 
"Tell  me  the  worst  Edward,"  she  cried,  twining  her  arms  about  hi» 

neck. 

««  We  must  fly  this  mement,  Ann ;  or  the  blood-hounds  of  t 
will  be,  upon  our  track.     Or  stay— he  uttered,  a  new  hope  starting  i 
his  mind.   Ann,  love,  the  Commissioner*  of  the  Queen  will  be  here, 
articles  of  faith  prescribed  by  the 


n  in  / 1 L  M^  « 

The  youn<r  wife  sunk  back  upon  the  pillow  utterly  prostrated,  as 
the  conviction  of  her  danger  and  the  dreadful  alternative  broke  upon 


even  now  ready  to  tear  his  trusting  bride  from  his  protecting  bosom. 
But  time  admonished  him  that  the  summons  of  the  Queen  must  be  > 


/ 
mind, 


/ 


fortitude;  (XaC 
mysteries  of   the   female 


44 


THE     NEW      WORLD. 


ia  periods  of  danger  and  suffering.     She  softly  drew  her  t^be  to  he) 
bosom,  aad  with  one  hand  pressed  that  of  her  husband.     The  Earl 
attempted  to  speak,  but  she  raised  her  dark  tearful  eyes  to  his  f 
aad  shook  her  head  sorrowfully,  as  if  she  weuld  say,  let  me  inou 
this  last  moment  of  weakness.     She  threw  her  arms  about  her  hu 
band  and  child,  and  sobbed  aloud.     The  indulgence  of  grief  weaken 
its  intensity.     Whea  Ann  raised  her  head  from  her  husband's  bo 
her  pale  face  was  beautiful  in  its  expression  of  the  high  and  no  y 
strength  of  womanhood.     Her  slumbering  energies  were  awake 
and  she,  who  had  hitherto  been  almost  childlike  m  her  tender 
and  dependence,  was  now  to  stand  forth  in  the  beautiful  panoply  V 
female  courage  and  devotion. 

•'Edward,"  she  said,  in  a  calm  sweet  voice,  tremulous  witu  re 
cent  emotion,  "  I  may  not  fly— God  will  temper  the  wind  to  the  st 
lamb.     I  will  wait  the  result." 

"  Nay,  Ann,  let  us  seek  an  asylum  abroad,  till  this  blood-thirsty 
tigress  has  finished  ker  career.   I  saw  her  to-night,  and  every  pang«« 
is  inflicting  upon  her  defenceless  subjects,  recoils  like  a  sting  to  ) 
own  bosom.     Philip  will  soon  be  rid  of  his  shrivelled  bride." 

But  th«  clear,  passionless  perception  of  Ann  saw  the  impossibil 
of  flight. 

"It  is  useless  to  think  of  flight,  Edward,  even  were  it  lawful  f< 
the  children  of  the  faith  to  flee  persecution.  The  coast  is  everywhere 
guarded— Mary  is  careful  that  the  doomed  shall  not  escape  her.' 
"  True— too  true,  cried  the  Earl;  but,  Ann,  thou  hast  said  h 
respecting  thy  faith  ;  thou  canst  sign  the  articles." 

Ann  turne-d  deadly  pale—"  True,  Edward  love,  I  have  said  li 
and  it  may  be,  that  therefore  this  evil  has  come  upon  me.  But  d 
not,  I  conjure  thee,  Edward,  tempt  me  to  apostatize.  Do  not  tempt 
me  to  barter  au  eternity  of  happiness,  for  a  few  uncertain  years,  l 
•know  thou  scornest  the  mummeries  of  the  Romish  Church,  and  ] 
would  thou  wouldst  openly  embrace  the  jtrue  Gospel.  I,  Edward," 
she  added  solemnly,  "must  never  be  a'traitor.to  the  truth.  Now  that 
my  faith  is  likely  to  be  tested.Jl  feel  [that  strength  which  Alice  said 
Gad  would  impart  in  the  hour  of  .trial,  gathering  about  my  feeble 
spirit;  and  I,  even  I,  by  the  Lord's  help,  may  be  endowed  with  the 
fortitude  of  a  martyr." 

The  Earl  pressed  her  cold  hands  in  his,  and  looked  with  agony 
-'poa  the  spiritual  expression  of  her  countenance.  It  was  fearful  to 
hear  that  young  and  innocent  creature  speak  thus  calmly  of  resigning 
herself  to  the  tortures  ef  martyrdom— of  turning  from  the  strong  ties 
f  domestic  love,  to  the  fiery  faggot,  and  the  silent  grave,  in  the  vigor 
-of  early  youth,  when  the  spirit  clings  so  tenaciously  to  life. 

Ana  felt  in  her  inmost  soul  the  felicity  of  which  she  had  partaken 
-n  this  life,  but  her  strong  spirit  eaw,  likewise,  in  that  land  where 
there  is  no  more  sorrowing,  a  mansion  prepared  by  the  great  Head  of 
the  Cbarch  for  those  who  should  follow  in  his  footsteps.  For  those, 
who  like  himself  should  lay  down  their  lives  for  the  truth's  sake,  she 
saw  an  eternity  of  glory,  a  crown  of  immortality,  and  white  robes, 
washed  in  his  sacred  blood,  and  golden  harps,  to  which  the  faithful 
shall  sing  day  and  night,  with  joy  unutterable,  hoiy,  holy,  is  the  Lord 
•God  Almighty.  Her  spirit  rose  to  a  holy  enthusiasm,  and  sinking  on 
her  knees,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  Heaven,  saying,  "Lord,  let  me  not 
•33k  why  some  of  thy  children  pass  through  the  fiery Tordeal  of  trial 
aad  suffering,  to  reach  the  crown  of  glory  that  awaits  them— let  me 
not  ask  why  the  blood  of  the  s<amt3  is  the  seed  of  the  Church  ;  enough, 
that  thou  art  able  so  to  endow  the  spirit  with  strength  and  faith,  that 
the  tortures,  from  which  thcjfltsh  in  its  weakness  recoils  with  horror, 
become  as  nothing  before  it ;  evea  less  than  the  pang  of  dissolution 
Tjpon  the  bed  of  qnietnes?. 

"L°t  me  not,  O  our  Father,  be  elated  with  pride,  thus  to  be  accounted 
worthy  to  suffer  in  thy  holy  cause,  neither  let  me  shrink  from  the 
trial ;  but  do  thou,  O  thou  strengthener  of  the  spirit  thou  hast  made, 
-be  ray  help  and  my  supporter  ;  and  whatever  awaits  me,  let  me  re 
•ceive  it  as  from  thy  hand,  humbly  saying,  '  Even  so,  Father,  for  so 
it  ssemeth  good  in  thy  sight.' "  | 

Her  voice  ceased,  bat  she  still  retained  the  attitude  of  prayer.  The 
Earl  laid  her  babe  in  her  arms — "JAnn,  if  not  for  my  sake,  at  least  for 
-thy  daughter's  consider,  thy  safety." 

"The  great  Shepherd  of  the  sheep  will  never  forget  this  lamb  of  his 
flock,"  said  the  strong-minded  mother,  pressing  it  to  her  bosom.  Theii 
looking  upon  the  pallid  brew  of  the  Earl,  on  which  the  cold  sweai 
stood  ia  drops,  and  the  contraction  of  the  muscles  told  of  the  power 
ful  struggle  within,  she  arose  calmly  from  her  knees,  wiped  his  brow, 
and  tenderly  kissing  it,  in  the  most  gentle  and  thrilling  tones  conjurer 
htm  to  summon  his  fortitude  for  the  trialjthat  awaited  him.  "  Whj 
,3'aouldst  thou,  Edward,  who  for  so  many  years  was  an  inhabitant  oi 


i&t  gloomy  Tower,  and  rose  in  the  morning,  and  slept  at  night,  with 
ic  axe  of  the  executioner  suspended  over  thee,  why  shouldst  thou 
ow  be  so  bereft  of  thy  manliness  1" 

The  Earl  started — "  Ann,  thou  hast  well  judged  of  the  potency  of 
lat  word.  The  prospect  of  torture  upon  my  own  limbs  would  Hever 
o  unman  me.  I  have  been  accustomed  to  the  contemplation  of  a 

dent  death  for  myself,  and  could  lay  my  head  upon  the  block,  er 
ubmit  to  the  stake  without  emotion  ;  it  is  but  a  momentary  pang 
nd  all  is  over.  But  for  thee,  Ann  ;  to  see  thee  burnt  and  tortired,  just 

0  gratify  the  blood-thirsty  malice  of  that  she-tiger — I  tell  thee,  they 
hall  find  their  way  over  my  lifeless  body — sooner  will  I  penetrate  the 
ecesses  of  the  Palace,  and  with  the  s.teel  of  the  assassin  rid  the  world 
f  a  monster,  and  the  voice  of  every  true-hearted  Englishman  will 
aud  me  with  praises.     Nay,  Ann,"  he  continued,  forcing  the  little 
land  of  his  wife  from  his  lips,  "  if  there  is  a  traitor  about  me,  I  will 
ear  his  unworthy  heart  from  his  bosom.     I  tell  thee,  Ann,  the  free- 

orn  Englishman  has  been  compelled  to  bow  to  the  haughty  and 
igoted  Spaniard  till  endurance  has  become  intolerable,  and  England 

must  be  freed  from  the  nuisance." 

Ann  listened  with  horror  at  the  rash  words  of  the  Earl ;  and  glanc- 
ng  at  the  half-opened  dooi  of  the  epaitment,  she  was  appalled  to 
iehold  the  dark  cowl  of  a  priest  peering  upon  their  privacy,  and 
.nother,  and  another  appeared,  till  she  sank  lifeless  upon  the  floor. 

Her  husband  followed  the  motion  of  her  eyes,  and  sprung  like  a  lion 
earde-d  in  his  den,  upon  the  intruders.  Driven  to  desperation,  he 

struck  down  assailant  after  assailant,  and  stood  himself  firm  and  un 
yielding,  as  the  rock  before  the  fury  of  the  elements.  But  what  was 
he  courage  and  strength  of  one  before  so  many  1  He  wasoverpow- 
;red  by  the  numbers  that  crowded  upon  him ;  and  the  gallant  and 

elegant  Courtney  became  once  more  a  prisoner  in  that  tower,  where 

so  many  of  his  early  years  had  been  spent. 

CHAPTER  V- 

WHEN  Ann  revived  to  consciousness,  the  first  sight  that  met  her 
yes  was  her  maidens  weeping  about  her,  and  old  Sarah  essaying  to 
sooth  the  cries  of  the  terriued  child.  In  a  recess  of  the  apartment 
were  collected  the  Commissioners  of  the  Queen,  thus  early  at  their 
pious  work  of  detecting  heretics.  Ann  half  relapsed  again  into  un 
consciousness  ;  but  she  missed  the  gentle  voice  of  Courtney,  and, 
starting  from  her  recumbent  position,  she  glanced  wildly  about  the 
apartment,  and  turned  to  her  maidens,  who  shrunk  from  her  agonized 
glance. 

"  Have  they  dragged  him  to  death  T'  she  cried  wildly. 

"To  prison,"  whispered  a  fair  girl,  who  knelt  beside  her. 

Ann  arose  from  her  bed,  and  throwing  her  ample  robe  about  her, 
while  the  young  girl  cased  her  feet  in  her  slippers,  she  turned  to  the 
Commissioners — 

:<I  am  unused,  Sir  Priests,  to  having  my  toilet  thus  attended ;  but 

1  am  ready  to  follow  my  husband." 

She  leaned  her  hand  upon  the  table  for  support,  and  turned  her 
dark  glorious  eyes  full  upon  them. 

A  shade  of  pity  mingled  with  admiration  in  the  countenance  of  the 
chief  Commissioner,  as  he  addressed  her — 

"  Gentle  Lady,  pardon  oar  intrusion ;  but  these  perilous  times 
demand  activity." 

Ann's  lip  curled  with  ecoin  ;  and  then  observing  the  too  admiring 
gaze  of  his  attendants,  an  indignant  blush  spread  over  her  pale  face. 

"  Stay  not  for  ceremony,  Sir  Priesf,  but  do  thy  bidding." 

While  the  Commissioner  busied  himself  in  spreading  out  a  long 
roll  of  parchment  upon  the  table,  Ann  seated  herself  at  the  further 
part  of  the  room,  while  aa  attendant  bound  up  her  long  beautiful 
hair,  that  had  fallen  over  her  shoulders. 

"  By  my  troth,"  she  muttered  impatiently,  "  it  vexes  me  that  a 
face  that  has  been  oommended  by  Courtney,  should  be  even  looked 
upon  by  these  burley  priests." 

"Fair  Lady,"  said  the  priest,  presenting  the  parchment,  "as  the 
faithful  but  unworthy  servant  of  her  most  gracious  Majesty,  the 
Queen,  I  present  these  Articles  for  thy  consideration,  humbly  craving 
thy  signature  thereunto." 

Ann  hastily  glanced  at  the  prcminent  articles  of  the  Catholic  faith, 
by  which  the  intolerant  despot  tested  the  orthodoxy  of  the  adherence 
of  her  subjects  to  the  Romish  Church;  and  as  one  tenet  after  another 
appeared  to  her  view,  from  which  her  principles  and  education  re 
volted,  her  lips  compressed,  and  her  whole  countenance  assumed  an 
ashy  paleness.  She  motioned  for  some  water,  and  Lucy  Danvers, 
the  young  girl  before  spoken  of,  presented  the  silver  cup  to  her 
lips ;  and  kneeling  at  her  feet,  raised  her  cold  hand  affectionately 
to  her  lips. 


CAPTIVE. 


THE    NEW    WORLD. 


45 


Ana  was  melted  at  this  token  of  tenderness,  and  she  leaned  her 
head  upon  the  young  girl's  shoulder,  to  conceal  a  tear  that  started  in 
her  eyes.  Then  rising  with  dignity  from  her  chair,  she  returned  ih" 
instrument  to  the  Commissioner. 

"I  am  unworthy  of  so  much  notice  from  our  gracious  Queen.  1 
must  first  be  assured  of  the  safety  of  my  husband,  before  I  consider 
upon  any  proposals  made  to  myself.  I  must  first  know  upon  what 
grounds  he  is  dragged  from  his  home,  and  immured  within  the  walls 
of  a  prison." 

«'  It  is  unnecessary  to  shock  thee,  gentle  Lady,  by  detailing  the 
suspicions  under  which  he  has  fallen,  and  which  the  words  1  have 
this  morning  heard,  but  too  plainly  justify.  My  duty  was  with  your 
self,  Lady,"  he  added,  bowing. 

"Nevertheless,  Priest,"  returned  Ann,  firmly,  "I  shall  give  you 
no  satisfaction  till  I  kno-v  the  grounds  of  my  husband's  apprehension. 
Answer  me  quickly,  or  I  will  seek  information  elsewhere." 

"Beit  as  thou  wilt,  Lady,"  returned  the  priest.  "Has  not  thy 
husband  been  in  correspondence  with  the  traitor  Wyat,  and  concert 
ing  measures  to  aid  him  iu  his  insurrectionary  movements  V 

Ann  grew  dizzy  at  the  contemplation  of  her  husband's  danger,  and 
the  memory  of  his  rashness. 

"  Never,  never!"  she  faintly'gasped.  "  His  only  offence  has  been 
in  loving  me  too  well." 

'•'  Yet  such  things  have  been  alleged  against  him  :  the  Eatl  of  De 
vonshire  is  suspected  of  treason." 

"  It  is  false,"  cried  Ann,  warmly.  "  A  truer  heart  never  beat  in 
an  English  bosom.  The  words  thou  hast  heard,  were  forced  from 
him  in  the  excess  of  anxiety  for  me.  The  Queen  has  not  a  more 
loyal  subject  in  the  realm,  than  Edward  Courtney,  Earl  of  Devon 
shire.  And  the  time  may  come,  when  such  as  thou,  who  lurk  about 
our  dwellings  to  betray  the  language  uttered  in  the  security  of  our 
own  hearth-stones,  and  then  rend  it  to  the  furtherance  of  your  unholy 
projects — who  drag  ihe  innocent  to  the  stake,  and  the  loyal  to  the 
block — will  meet  the  retribution  laid  up  in  reserve  for  you.  I  tell 
you,  proud  priest,  the  time  wil!  come,  when  your  own  groans  and 
cries  will  be  as  little  heeded  as  those  of  the  victims  daily  perishing 
by  your  malignity.'' 

The  eyes  of  the  Commissioner  fell  under  her  indignant  glance,  and 
his  face  grew  pale  at  the  fearful  contingency  she  depicted. 

"  I  cams  not,  Lady,  to  contend  with  thee ;  I  merely  ask  thy  sig 
nature  to  these  Articles,  that  her  gracious  Majesty  may  not  only  be 
assured  of  thy  loyalty,  but  of  the  soundness  of  thy  faith." 

Ann  shrunk  from  the  cold  sarcastic  malignity  of  his  tone,  and 
when  he  again  urged  her  to  subscribe  to  the  Articles  prepared  by 
the  Court  Commissioners,  she  laid  her  hands  solemnly  upon  the  in 
strument — "I  can  never  purchase  temporal  safety  by  compromising 
my  duty,  or  my  conscience — I  take  God  to  witness,  that  I  consider 
the  doctrines  herein  expressed  as  false  and  heretical;  contrary  to  the 
spirit  of  the  word  of  God,  and,  therefore,  not  binding  upon  his 
creatures  " 

The  face  of  the  Commissioner  grew  black  with  the  fierceness  of 
snppressd  rage  .-  "Dost  thou  know,  lady,  to  what  thou  exposest  thy 
self,  by  the  utterance  of  sentiments  like  these  V 

"I  do:  but  I  remember,  too,  the  eternity  of  glory  reserved  for 
those  who  endure  persecutien  for  the  truth's  sake." 

The  Commissioner  laid  his  hand  fiercely  upon  the  shoulder  of  the 
lady.  She  stepped  back  with  dignity — "  Bethink  thyself,  priest ; 
this  brutality  forms  no  part  of  thy  office." 

The  Commissioner  slightly  bowed.  "Dost  thou  know  that  what 
thou  hast  uttered  is  sufficient  to  convict  thee  1  To  those  who  refuse 
to  sign  the  Articles,  trial  is  unnecessary  ;  they  stand  condemned  by  the 
laws  of  our  Holy  Church." 

«  Yes  •  I  know  it.  I  know  that  these  limbs  may  be  tortured  and 
wasted  at  the  etake;  but  I  know,  also,  that  with  the  ashes  of  the 
martyrs  there  goeth  fsrth  a  spirit  that  oilletL  to  the  four  winds  ot 
-heaven  for  retribuiion  ;  a  spirit  that,  ere  long,  shall  shake  the  proud 
temple  of  Rome  to  its  foundation,  and  wo  to  those  who  shall 
resting  under  its  shadow." 

•'  Thy  own  obstinacy  be  thy  destruction  ;  the  guilt  be   upon  tr 
own  head  ;"  said  the  Commissioner,  motioning  to  an  officer 
forward.     He  produced  a  warrant  by  virtue  of  which,  Anna  C 
ney,  wife  of  the  Earl  of  Devonshire,  for  so  was  the  instrument  v, 
•was  arrested  for  heresy. 

Taking  her  child  in  her  arms,  and  motioning  Lucy  Danvers 
low  her,  Ann  prepared  to  go  out,  never  more  to  return  to  the  doraest 
hearth    The  officer  at  first  objected  to  her  taking  the  ct.ld  with  h< 
but  her  speechless  look  of  agony,  when  they  attempted  to  take  i 
from  her  arms,  prevailed,  and  they  suffered  it  to  remam.    Gmng 


her  hand,  and  uttering  a  kind  word  to  the  attendants,  who  aftectio-. 
itely  gathered  round  her,  and  who  could  only  reply  by  sobs  and  tear?, 
Ann,  with  a  tearless  eye,  but  faltering  step,  departed. 

But  few  days  intervened  between  her  arrest,  and  the  period  ap 
pointed  for  execution.  In  the  mean  while,  she  spent  the  time  allotted 
her  in  writing  letters  of  consolation  to  her  few  surviving  friends;  lu 
mostly,  in  addressing  notes  to  her  imprisoaed  husband,  whom  she 
was  not  permitted  to  see,  in  which,  in  the  most  affectionate  and 
touching  manner,  she  conjured  him  to  constancy  in  the  trials  that 
;i  waited  him.  "  And  do  nor,  I  beseech  thee,  my  beloved,"  she  one 
day  wrote,  "suffer  yourself  to  sink  into  despondency,  but  call  to  your 
nid  that  great  and  manly  spirit  which  has  hitherto  sustained  you  in 
so  many  conflicts,  and  through  so  many  sufferings;  remembering 
that  these  light  afflictions,  which  are  bu'  for  a  moment,  will  work 
out  for  us  a  fir  more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory.  I  will 
not  urge  you  to  renounce  your  allegiance  to  the  Romiih  faith,  be 
lieving,  as  I  do/that  your  piety,  your  virtue,  and  long-suffering,  will 
meet  with  a  just  and  ample  reward  ;  still  I  would  that  you  believed 
the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus. 

"  And  now,  my  own,  by  brloved  husband,  do  not  dwell  upon  the 
sufferings  I  am  called  to  endure ;  do  not  picture  me  to  yourself, 
writhing  in  torture,  and  dying  with  agony  at  the  stake — it  IB  but 
death,  my  love,  in  what  shape  soever  it  may  come.  I  assure  you 
solemnly,  that  God  has  so  endowed  me  with  his  marvellous  strength, 
that  I  have  never  once  shrunk  from  the  contemplation  of  the  fearful 
mode.  The  poor  wretch,  whose  feeble  spirit  recoils  from  the  terrors 
of  drowning,  or  the  ordinary  pangs  of  dissolution,  endures  more  of 
real  suffering  than  the  undaunted  Martyr,  who,  relying  on  an  Al 
mighty  arm,  fearlessly  submits  his  body  to  the  flames,  and  quenches 
the  fiery  stake  with  his  own  heart's  blood." 

The  morning  of  her  execution,  she  severed  a  glossy  curl  from  her 
infant's  head,  and  placing  it  with  one  long  beautiful  tress  from  her 
own  hair,  enclosed  them  both  with  a  note  to  her  husband. 

"  1  need  not  ask  thee,  dearest,"  she  wrcie,  "  to  preserve 
this  last  token  of  my  remembrance — I  know  thou  wilt  wear  it  next 
thy  heart.  I  would  it  might  do  the  will  of  her  who  sends  it  thee, 
and  comfort  thee  in  thy  widowhood  and  sorrow.  I  know,  whenever 
our  infant  smiles  in  thy  face  it  will  mind  thee  of  me,  and  thou  wilt 
weep  ;  but  I  conjure  thee  to  moderate  thy  grief.  Be  comforted,  for 
the  sake  of  thine  own  Ann,  who  thinks  less  of  herself  than  of  thee, 
in  the  prospect  of  dying.  Farewell,  dearest,  most  beloved,  I  would 
I  could  once  more  embrace  thee — bat  perhaps  it  is  best  otherwise. 
Be  comforted,  for  the  sake  of  our  helpless  child,  and  because  your 
own  beloved  and  dying  Ann  desires  it." 

She  h?.d  scarcely  finished  this  last  epistle,  when  the  warden  came- 
to  remind  htr  that  the  hour  appointed  for  her  execution  had 
arrived,  y  I  shall  soon  be  ready,"  she  said,  with  a  placid  smile. 
Her  face  was  deadly  pale,  but  there  was  no  other  evidence  of  emo 
tion.  She  proceeded,  with  the  utmost  composure,  to  habit  herself  in 
a  full  black  velvet  robe,  made  saug  to  the  throat,  which  she  had  re 
served  for  this  fearful  occasion.  Lucy  Danvers  ventured  to  suggest, 
whether  she  might  not  suffer  mere  in  a  dress  of  such  heavy  mate 
rial.  "  Perhaps  so,"  said  the  lady,  "  but  this  will  retain  its  position." 
She  clasped  her  hands  over  her  bosom,  and  a  slight  flush  [  assed 
over  her  cheek,  as  she  softly  added,  "  I  dread  exposure  more  than 
death."  As  Lucy  proceeded  to  arrange  her  hair,  she  reserved  * 
tress,  which  she  presented,  with  a  golden  brooch,  to  this  faithful  and 
aflecrionate  girl,  who  had  continued  with  unwearied  diligence  to 
attend  her,  and  with  a  fortitude  beyond  her  years. 

When  all  was  ready,  she  clapped  her  babe,  for  the  last  time,  to 
the  maternal  breast.  As  its  innocent  lips  murmured  at  the  accus 
tomed  fountain,  a  tear  fell  upon  its  cheek.  It  looked  up— it  had  been 
accustomed  to  its  mother's  saddened  look,  and,  in  the  beautiful  lan 
guage  of  Wordsworth,  it  had  even  now  begun  'to  sigh  among  ita 
playthings;'  its  little  bosom  heaved  with  a  sigh,  and  it  raised  its 
head  to  her  lips,  and  then  resumed  its  employment.  The  mother'* 
eyes  closed,  and  a  prayer,  silent  but  fervent,  ascended  on  high. 

When  the  unconscious  babe  had  nursed  itself  to  slumber,  the  mo 
ther  laid  it  softly  upon  the  rude   bed,  and  imprinted  a  la«t,  long  kiso 
of  maternal  love  upon  its  brow  and  cheek.     She  then  knelt 
it  and  continued  long  in  fervent  and  wrapt  devotion.     It  would  al 
most  seem,  from  the  glowing  language  that  bur*t  from  her  lips,  is  if 
the  glory  and  happiness  into  which  she  was  soon  to  enter,  were  e 
MOW  revealed  to  her  spiritually  discerning  eyes  ;  as  if  an  »ng 
had  swept   aside  the  veil  of  earth  and  revealed  the  be at.tude,  and 
.lory,  and  magnificence  of  etsrnal  spirituality  and  holiness.     Wh 
Ihe  arose,  she  presented  her  hand  to  the  fair  girl  who  knelt 
blessing,  and  then  laid  it  upon  her  head,  and,  for  a  moment,  her  lip? 


THE      NEW      WORLD. 


THE  WESTERN 


moved ;  she  then  stooped  down  and  kissed  the  pale  £oung  cheek  of 
her  who  had  been  as  a  friend  and  companion,  in  happiness  and  sor 
row.  Then,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  officer,  she  calmly  left  the 
prison. 

We  will  not  detail  the  horrors  of  the  last  fearful  scene.  Suffice  it 
to  say,  when  the  appalling  preparations  were  all  completed,  the  last 
faggot  laid,  and  the  flaming  torch  ready,  the  Bishop  of  London,  richly 
habited,  rode  to  the  pile,  and  reined  in  hia  powerful  charger  in  front 
of  the  kdy,  who  remained  whh  her  eyes  closed,  her  face  calm,  but 
as  marble.  It  was  evident,  she  suffered  more  from  the  gaze  of  the 
upturned  eyes  of  the  thousands  that  had  come  to  witness  the  tragical 
scene,  than  from  the  prospect  of  personal  teiture. 

The  Bishop  urged  her,  in  (He  most  impressive  manner,  to  re 
nounce  her  heresies,  and  be  received  once  more  to  the  bosom  of  the 
Holy  Church. 

She  moved  her  hand  in  token  that  he  should  cease  to  importune 
her,  and  the  Bishop,  deubtless  fearing  the  impression  which  her 
youth,  her  beauty,  and  constancy  wer?  likely  to  make  upon  the 
assembled  multitude,  ordered  the  faggots  to  be  lighted. 

Not  a  word  escaped  from  that  monumental  pyre,  when  the  soul  of 
the  pure  and  strong-minded  Anna  of  Devonshire,  departed  to  the 
blessed  company  of  saiats  and  worthies,  who,  through  much  tribu 
lation  have  entered  into  glory  and  immortality. 

It  is  doubtful  whether  the  Queen  really  suspected  the  Earl  of  trea 
sonable  practices ;  be  that  as  it  may,  ha  was  fully  acquitted  by  Wya) 
and  his  associates,  and  the  feeble  and  broken-hearted  man  obtained 
permission  to  travel  for  the  benefit  of  his  own  and  infant's  health. 
He  finally  closed  a  short  and  eventful  life,  embittered  by  the  jealousy 
and  ambition  of  others,  and  weighed  down  by  sorrows  deep  and 
rending,  beneath  the  sunny  skies  of  Italy  ;  and  the  lone  child  was 
aoon  placed,  by  the  hands  of  strangers,  beside  him. 

THE  EJfD  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  SISTERS. 


GEMS    AND     REPTILES. 

AN     OLD      STOttY      IN      A     NEW      DRESS. 
BY  MRS.  SEE  A  SMITH. 

<c  O  DEAR  !  what  a  naughty  girl  I  am — I  most  be  naughty,  for  no 
body  loves  me,  and  nobody  speaks  kindly  to  me.  My  aunt  and  cousin 
tell  me  every  day  I  live,  I  am  the  worst  girl  in  the  world.  It  must 
be  so — and  yet  I  don't  know  what  it  is  that  I  do  so  very  bad  "  Lit 
tle  Blanch  looked  round,  for  she  thought  somebody  was  close  to  her 
ear,  and  whispered  "  Nothing — nothing."  But  she  must  have  beeni 
mistaken.  There  was  no  one  in  sight,  and  now  she  could"  only  hear 
the  wind  kissing  the  little  daisies,  and  laughing  in  the  willows,  end 
teazing  the  long  slender  branches,  that  stooped  down  to  play  in  the 
fountain. 

Blanch  set  the  pitcher  upon  the  green  bank,  and  bent  over  to  look 
down,  down  into  the  clear  waters,  as  tbey  bubbled  up  in  the  shadow 
of  the  hill,  and  then  trickled  away  over  the  pebbles,  eddying  round 
the  roots  of  the  old  trees,  and  then  sparkling  away  off  in  the  sun 
shine,  flashing  and  dimpling  in  the  light,  like  some  living,  beautiful 
thing  sporting  in  the  meadow  grpss  and  the  overshadowing  trees. 

Blanch  began  to  feel  quite  happy,  though  she  couldn't  tell  why; 
and  then  she  looked  down  into  the  fountain,  and  saw  her  own  eyes 
peeping  u-p,  and  she  laughed — and  the  girl  in  the  water  laughed — 
and  both  laughed  together,  'till  the  old  hills  and  rocks  sent  it  back 
again. 

"  O  dear,  what  a  noise  I  am  making!  and  my  aunt  will  be  angry 
with  me  for  staying  so  long." 

Blanch  looked  once  more  into  the  water,  but  the  little  girl  from 
beneath  did  not  laugh  this  time ;  on  the  contrary,  her  face  was  quite 
pale  and  sad,  and  Blanch  looked  into  her  melancholy  eyes  'till  the 
tears  gushed  to  her  own,  and  fell  into  the  water.  The  drops  circled 
away  in  dimpling  lines,  growing  larger  and  larger,  and  completely 
hiding  the  face  of  the  little  girl  in  the  water. 

Blanch  rubbed  her  eyes  and  looked  again,  for  she  saw  something 
exceedingly  beautiful  stirring  the  pebbles  at  the  bottom  of  the  foun- 
tuin.  She  held  back  her  hair,  and  looked  down  close  and  still  j  for 
there,  right  beside  her  own  fice,  she  saw  a  most  lovely  being,  smil 
ing,  and  holding  up  her  sirrall  pale  hands. 

Blanch  let  her  hair  fall,  'till  it  almost  blinded  her  eyes,  aad  even 
dipped  into  the  fountain,  while  she  held  out  both  her  hands  to  the 
little  lady  of  the  water. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  beautiful  creature,  springing  lightly  to  the 


bank,  and  smoothing  her  long  curls,  and  smiling  in  the  eyes  of  the 
little  girl. 

"You  are  a  good  girl,  Blanch,  and  I  mean  to  be  your  friend  ;  that 
is  if  you  are  always  good — for  should  you  become  sinful  you  couldn't 
look  upon  me,  or  I  speak  to  you." 

She  said  this  in  a  low,  sad  voice,  and  the  little  girl  thought  she 
was  then  even  prettier  than  when  she  smiled. 

The  lady  sat  still  a  while,  plaiting  the  pretty  flowers  that  grew 
around  into  a  coronal ;  for  it  is  likely  she  knew  the  child  was  so 
curious  to  mark  her  strange  dress,  that  she  could  hardly  hear  a  word 
that  might  be  said. 

Blanch  had  heard  of  water-nymphs,  but  she  had  been  told  they  had 
sea-green  skin  and  eyes,  and  hair  hanging  like  the  sea-grass  all  about 
their  shoulders.  She  thought  they  must  be  very  ugly,  and  was  quite 
certain  the  beautiful  creature  beside  her  could  not  be  one  of  these. 

The  lady's  cheek  and  neck  were  of  the  pare  color  of  the  inner  lip 
of  the  ocean  shell,  growing  of  a  brighter,  and  brighter  hue,  till  just 
below  the  eye,  it  became  of  that  rich  beautiful  tint,  we  find  upon  the 
shell  as  we  look  in,  in,  to  its  very  heart.  Then  her  hair  was  soft 
and  bright,  like  long  threads  of  amber,  waving  and  glittering  in  the 
light.  Her  eyes  were  of  the  deep,  deep  blue,  seen  upon  the  surface 
of  the  muscle-shell,  but  so  soft,  so  liquid  in  their  lovingness  and  beau 
ty,  that  Blanch  thought  she  could  never  tire  in  looking  at  them.  Her 
voice  was  like  breathed  melody ;  soft  and  murmuring,  like  the  sound 
of  the  shell  when  held  to  a  human  ear. 

She  had  a  coronal  of  pearls  about  her  head,  and  bracelets  of  the 
same  upon  her  arms.  Her  robe  was  curiously  wrought  of  exceed 
ingly  small  shells,  like  gold  and  silver,  all  strung  together.  It  was 
fastened  at  the  shoulder  with  a  large  emerald,  and  her  girdle  was  of 
amethysts  and  diamonds.  Her  sandles  were  of  pearly  shells,  streaked 
with  pink,  the  tellina  I  think,  and  were  fastened  with  a  fillet  of  the 
sea-weed. 

"  You  may  call  me  Fontana,  Blanch,"  said  the  lady,  placing  the 
chaplet  of  flowers  upon  the  brow  of  the  child. 

Blanch  smiled,  and  pulled  the  little  daisies,  for  she  couldn't  just 
think  what  to  say. 

"  Would  you  like  some  of  these  pearls,  and  diamonds,  Blanch  V 

"  Oh,  they  are  very  beautiful,"  said  the  child,  "  but  I  should  have 
no  time  to  play  with  them.  Dear,  dear,  how  long  I  have  staid  • 
Oh,  my  aunt  will  scold."  She  took  up  the  pitcher  and  was  hurrying 
away,  in  great  trouble,  but  Fontana  detained  her. 

"  You  must  not  go  yet,  Blanch.  I  will  see  that  your  aunt  doesn't 
scold  you;  so  eit  down  and  let  us  talk  awhile." 

Blanch  was  very  loath  to  stay,  but  Fontana  was  so  gentle,  and  pro 
mised  so  earnestly  that  all  should  be  well,  that  at  last  she  eat  down 
again  by  the  fountain. 

"  If  you  don't  want  pearls  and  diamonds,  Blanch,  what  do  you 
wish  for  1  What  shall  I  do  for  you  1  Shall  I  punish  your  aunt  and 
cousin  for  treating  you  so  ill  1" 

"  Oh  no,  no,"  said  the  little  girl  very  earnestly,  "  they  treat  me  so 
because  I  am  so  very  naughty.  How  could  you  think  of  such  a  thing  1 
I'm  sure  /  never  did." 

Fontana  smiled,  and  kissed  the  cheeks,  and  eyes,  and  lips  of  the 
child. 

"  I  love  you  dearly,  Blanch,  and  do  wish  you  could  think  of  some 
thing  I  could  do  for  you." 

Blanch  dropped  her  eyes,  as  if  thinking  earnestly ;  and  then  her 
face  dimpled  all  over  with  smiles,  &a  she  said, 

"  I  wish  you  could  help  me  to  be  good,  so  that  my  aunt,  and 
cousin,  and  every  body  will  love  me — I  should  be  quite  happy  then." 

"  What,  don't  you  want  to  be  rich,  and  ride  in  a  coach,  and  have 
servants,  and  dress  grandly — and  then  let  your  aunt  aad  cousin  be 
poor,  and  go  with  bare  feet,  just  as  you  do  1" 

"Oh  dear,  no,"  said  Blanch,  turning  quite  pale  ;  "  how  coald  you 
think  of  sach  a  thing  1" 

"Well,  let  your  aunt  and  cousin  be  rich,  too,  then  wouldn't  you 
like  to  dress  grandly,  Blanch  1" 

"  Oh  dear,  I  only  want  to  be  good,  and  be  loved,"  said  the  poor 
girl,  turning  her  head  away  quite  sorrowfully. 

Fontana  took  her  in  her  arras,  and  kissed  her  many  times,  aad 
Blanch  felt  the  tears  upon  her  cheek  ;  she  heard  sweet  far-off  me 
lody  ;  the  sky  seemed  brighter  than  ever,  and  she  thought  she  must 
be  dreaming,  she  felt  so  happy.  Then  the  lady  placed  her  upon  the 
green  bank,  and  when  the  child  looked  round,  there  was  nothing  to 
be  seen  or  heard,  but  the  birds  singing  in  the  trees,  and  the  water 
leaping  over  the  white  pebbles. 

"  Oh  dear,  dear,  my  aunt  will  scold  me,"  and  she  filled  the  pitcher 
and  ran  home  just  as  fast  as  she  could  go. 


CAPTIVE. 


THE    NEW     WORLD. 


47 


Her  aunt  met  her  at  the  door,  and  had  opened  her  mouih  to  utter 
hard  words,  and  raised  her  hand  to  give  her  a  blow  on  the  ear,  when 
(he  sight  of  the  coronal  upon  the  girl's  head  arrested  her. 

"Blanch,  where  did  you  get  this!  Was  there  ever  anything  so 
beautiful !"  and  she  tore  it  from  the  child's  head,  and  held  it  to 
the  light  where  it  did  look  truly  exquisite,  for  every  little  leaf,  and 
bad,  and  flower,  was  made  up  of  innumerable  small  gems  of  the 
pure  water. 

"  Come  in,  child,  and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

Blanch  did  tell  every  word,  for  there  was  something  within  that 
told  her  she  ought  to  tell  the  truth,  and  the  whole  truth.  Sometimes 
her  aun-'.  laughed,  and  sometimes  she  frowned,  but  when  she  came 
to  that  part,  where  the  lady  would  have  given  her  fine  clothes,  and 
a  coach  to  ride  in,  her  cousin  called  her  "  a  poor,  mean-spirited  fool 
— so  then  you  only  asked  to  be  good,  you  precious  little  foel,  did 
you  1"  she  said  scornfully. 

The  tears  came  into  Blanch's  eye?,  and  fell  upon  her  lap. 

"  What  is  ihat  rolling  about  in  your  lap  1"  said  Adeline.  "I  never 
Saw  such  tears  before ;  they  don't  soak  in ;"  and  the  heartless  girl 
shook  them  upon  the  floor.  Sure  enough,  they  rolled  away,  clear, 
brilliant  diamonds,  large  as  peas. 

Adeline  laughed  and  scrabbled  after  them,  and  toldClanch  to  "  cry 


away ;"  she  liked  such  tears  But  the  little  girl  laughed  as  well  as  her 
cousin,  and  scrabbled  too  for  the  diamonds,  it  made  her  feel  so  happy 
to  see  smiling  faces. 

"I  will  go  down  too  the  well,  too,"  said  Adeline,  "  and  see  if  I 
cannot  get  something  handsome." 

She  soon  came  back,  flushed  and  angry  ;  she  declared  there  was 
aobody  to  be  seen  at  the  well,  and  Blanch  must  have  found  the  gems, 
and  then  have  invented  the  story  as  an  excuse  for  staying  so  long. 
She  struck  Blanch  upon  the  shoulder,  and  shook  her  radely. 

"Don't be  angry,  cousin,  yon  shall  have  all  the  pretty  stones,"  cried 
the  child,  offering  those  she  had  picked  up. 

But  she  had  no  sooner  opened  her  mouth  to  speak,  than  pearls  and 
diamonds,  a.-:d  all  precious  stones,  fell  therefrom,  and  rolled  upon  the 
floor,  and  flashed  and  sparkled  in  the  sunlight,  till  the  room  seemed 
all  paved  with  jewels. 

For  many  days  Adeline  said  nothing  further  about  going  to  the 
well,  for  both  she  aud  her  mother  were  so  occupied  in  fastening  the 
gems  upon  their  dresses,  that  they  had  no  time  even  to  scold  poor 
little  Blanch ;  and  she  was  now  the  happiest  child  in  the  world — she 
smiled  and  sang  all  day,  and  was  so  attentive  to  all  the  wants  of  her 
aunt  and  cousin,  that  she  seemed  to  know  what  was  desired  even 
before  they  spake.  She  wished,  in  the  guilelessness  01  ner  young 
heart,  that  she  only  had  a  whole  mine  of  jewels  to  give  them,  so 
thankful  did  she  feel  for  gentle  words  and  kind  looks. 

It  was  soon  found  that  jewels  came  from  the  mouth  of  Blanch  only 
when  she  returned  a  gentle  reply  to  the  harshness  of  others— her  tears 
loert  gems  only  when  they  wire  the  tears  of  compassion  or  of  sorrow. 

Adeline  was  making  a  lily,  all  of  pearls— she  hadn't  quite  enough 
to  finish  it.  Half  in  earnest,  half  in  sport,  she  gave  Blanch  a  blow, 
saying,  "  Cry,  child  ;  I  want  some  more  pearls." 

Blanfih  had  never  felt  just  so  before  ;  her  face  reddened,  and  she 
WM  about  to  make  an  angry  reply,  when  she  felt  a  dash  of  water  all 
over  her  face.  She  stopped  short,  and  looked  about,  but  no  one  was 
near  but  Adeline.  Then  she  thought  of  the  sinful  feeling  within  and 
knew  it  must  have  been  Fontanathat  sprinkled  the  drops  in  her  face. 
Bknch  knew  she  had  done  wrong,  and  she  shed  tears  of  penttence- 

^roL'IlllV'  said  Adeline,  "  take  the  pitcher,  and  I  will  go 
dowa  "he  well  with  you.     I  like  the  lady's  gifts  vastly,  and  shall 


Little  Blanch  descended  the  bank  instantly,  to  do  as  she  was  de 
sired  j  but  Adeline  cruelly  spurned  her  with  her  foot,  saying,  "  Get 
up,  you  old  hag,  I  would'nt  give  you  a  drink,  not  I." 

The  eld  woman  glanced  at  the  hard-hearted  girl  with  a  severe  and 
searching  look  ;  and  slowly  rose  from  the  ground.  The  old  staff  be 
came  a  wand  of  ivory — the  lean  face  became  soft  and  round  ;  th« 
bent  form  erect  and  graceful,  and  the  beautiful  lady  of  the  fountain 
stood  before  them.  She  was  even  more  splendidly  attired  than  be 
fore,  and  her  look  more  sweet  and  tender. 

"Dear,  dear,  Fontana,"  said  Blanch, springing  toward  her.  The 
lady  took  her  to  her  bosom,  and  again,  and  again  kissed  her  cheek ; 
then  the  child  heard  yet  again  that  low,  sweet  melody,  as  if  the  very 
air,  and  everything  about  were  full  of  it — again  all  was  stiH—  and 
now  the  two  girls  stood  alone  by  the  fountain. 

"  How  strange,"  said  little  Blanch,  "when she  is  gone,  I  can  hardly 
think  I  have  seen  any  thing  in  reality — it  seems  so  like  a  dream,  or 
the  pleasant  thoughts  I  have  when  I  am  alone." 

"Pretty  well,  too,"  said  Adeline;  "she  could  only  frown  upon 
me" — she  stopped  short,  for  just  then  a  small  green  lizard  hopped 
from  her  mouth,  and  the  terrified  girls  ran  home  as  fast  as  they 
could  go. 

Adeline  struck  Blanch,  and  said  she  hid  bewitched  her;  and  every 
time  she  spoke  small  snakes  and  toads  darted  from  her  mouth — then 
she  would  cry  with  horror  and  vexation,  when  bugs  and  spiders  fell 
from  her  eyes. 

Poor  Blanch  stood  by,  weeping  and  wringing,  her  hands,  and  the 
pearls  and  precious  stones  rolled  all  about  the  room,  for  no  one  heeded 
them.  She  thought  of  a  thousand  thing?,  but  not  one  that  had  any 
prospect  of  relieving  her  cousin. 

"Oh  dear,  dear,  I  wish  Fontana  was  only  here!"  cried  Blanch. 
She  felt  a  slight  sprinkle  upon  her  face,  and  then  she  knew  the  lady 
must  be  near.  Then  she  began  to  think  Fontana  very  cruel  to  punish 
her  cousin  so.  All  at  once  some  one  whispered  close  to  her  ear, 
and  said, 

"  Are  not  pride,  and  anger,  and  cruelty,  like  lizards,  and  toads, 
and  serpents  V 

"  Oh  dear,  dear,  try  to  feel  gentle,  cousin  Adeline  ;  perhaps  they 
come  because  you  are  angry."  • 

"  Angry,"  cried  Adeline,  slamping  with  her  feet,  "  isn't  this 
enough  to  make  anybody  angry  1  I  wish  I  had  hold  of  that  old  wo 
man,  and  I  would  tear  her  all  to  pieces." 

Just  then  a  large  serpent  sprang  from  her  mouth,  ?.r.d  both  her 
mother  and  Blanch  ran  out  of  the  house. 


some  maiden,  with  a  skin  like  the  embrace  of  the  rose  and  hlly,  and 
eyes  clear,  soft  and  blue.     She  was  still  gentle  and  loving,  like  a  lit 
child,  with  a  smile  always  ready  for  a  cheerful  look,  and  a  tear  for  a 
sad  one.     Some  thought  it  geodness  alone,  that  made  her  so  b< 
ful  ;  others  thought  it  the  kisses  of  the  lady  of  the  fountain,  fc 
still  sometimes  appeared,  when  Blanch  was  sad  or  unhappy,  and 
spoke  words  of  hope  and  consolation. 

Adeline  too  had  grown  a  tall,  proud  girl,  with  large  b.ac*  eyes 
glittering  brightness,  and  a  step  like  a  queen.     There  were  yet  t 
when  the  reptiles  sprang  from  the  mouth  of  the  violent  girl,  in 
moments  of  pride  or  irritation.     Sometimes  am,d  the  splendc 
triumph  of  a  ball,  she  would  be  obliged  to  retire  in  the  greatest   . 
,  for  pride,  and  envy,  and  malice,  would  bring  the  reptd 

ill  w,pt  her  pearl,,  and  spoke  all  so 
of  the  two  girU  spread  far  and  wide 


and 
no  one 


they  came  to  the  fountain,  all 
clear  and  cool,  and  they  peered  down, 
seen  but  white  stones,  rounded  by  ^^ 

the  bank*  ho°Pi"g  the*  lady  might  appear.  --  who 

s^r^SKs^asa*^ 

nearly  double  with  age.  and  sank 

Both  girls  looked  earnestly  at  her,  till 
down  upon  the  grass  beside  them.  d  .  k  from 

"lam  faint  and  weary,  ladies-will  you  g m ,me t 
the  fountain  V  said  the  old  woman,  la  a  low,  trembhng 


r  rv  t  i^j   «*•«  .   .     • 

^«S«M!£^tt? 


seen  her. 
M  last,  a 


49 


THE     NEW      WORLD 


kind,  and   ponds   filled   with  fish,  and  brooks  with  rustic  bridges 
thrown  over  them,  made  all  seem  the  work  of  enchantment. 

Adeline  did  nothing  but  arrange  her  dress  and  jewels,  and  play 
upon  her  harp  close  to  the  window  where  the  stranger  directed  the 
laborers ;  and  when  he  would  look  up  and  smile,  or  present  her 
ffowers,  she  was  goed-natured  all  day. 

Blanch  was  delighted,  and  tried  very  hard  to  make  her  cousin  j 
look  beautiful ;  and  did  just  as  she  was  bid,  which  was  to  keep  out 
of  sight  of  the  strange  gentleman.  Blanch  thought  it  an  easy  matter 
to  do  thu,  for  she  didn't  much  like  his  looks,  and  thought  him  not 
half  so  elegant  as  a  young  servant  she  sometimes  saw  in  the  garden 
attempting  to  arrange  the  flowers,  and  to  transplant  them;  but  he, 
was  so  awkward,  spilling  the  earth  and  breaking  the  pots,  that  she! 
couldn't  keep  from  laughing  to  see  him  work — then  the  master  1 
would  appear,  and  scold  and  rave,  and  Blanch  would  find  her  eyes  i 
filling  with  tears  in  spite  of  all  she  could  do. 

She  one  day  told  Adeline  she  thought  the  servant  much  handsomer 
than  the  master,  and  there  was  that  about  him,  that  appeared  much ; 
more  noble. 

Adeline  was  indignaat,  and  said  she  was  no  judge,  and  many  other; 
things  that  proud,  love-sick  girls  are  apt  to  utter — but  her  mother 
seemed  much  pleased  with  the  idea ;  thought  it  might  be  so,  and 
winking  to  her  daughter  declared  Blanch  was  quite  in  love,  and  it 
would  make  an  excellent  match. 

Blanch  hadn't  thought  of  this,  and  she  blushed  and  hung  down  her 
head. 

Every  day  now  her  aunt  and  cousin  tried  to  throw  her  in  the  way 
of  the  young  servant,  and  even  were  at  some  pains  to  dress  her  and 
arrange  her  hair,  that  she  might  look  becoming.  Adeline,  it  is  true, 
was  too  much  occupied  with  the  master  to  pay  much  atter.'ion  to  the 
affairs  of  the  servant,  only  so  far  as  to  encourage  his  advances,  for 
she  thought  this  a  fine  way  to  dispose  of  her  poor  cousin,  by  degrad-  < 
ing  her  into  a  marriage  with  a  menial. 

Poor  Blanch  was  greatly  distressed  at  all  this  mano3uvring,  andj 
grew  every  day  more  pale  and  gentle,  and  a  great  deal  more  beauti 
ful  too ;  for  love  always  softens,  as  well  as  exalts  the  style  of  beauty. ; 

She  sometimes  wished  she  had  never  seen  him,  for  she  couldn't ! 
help  looking  through  the  lattice  where  the  vines  grew  thickly,  to  see  j 
him  at  his  work  among  the  flowers,  and  he  would  sometimes  look  j 
up,  too,  and  she  was  certain  he  was  growing  pale  and  melancholy  ;  | 
and  ahe  thought  it  not  unlikely  that  he  might  be  in  love  with  her! 
cousin  Adeline,  and  growing  sad  because  there  could  be  no  hope  for' 
hjm...  And  Blanch  wept  in  holy  compassion  for  the  poor,  vourm  BPI-.  I 

So  she  took  her  pitcher  in  her  hand,  and  went  down  to  the  foan-' 
tiin.     She  wept  a  long  time,  she  could  hardly  tell  why       Fontan 
came  and  kissed  her  cheek,  aad  wiped  her  tears  with  gossamer  mus-! 


delighted  to  think  Blanch  would  marry  the  servant  of  her  own  hui 
baed.  So  while  she  talked,  the  toads  and  snakes  sprang  from  he 
mouth,  but  the  family  were  so  used  to  them,  that  they  toek  no  notic 
of  them. 

Poor  Blanch  only  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  while  th 
pearls  fell  from  between  her  fingers,  and  dropped  among  the  grass  e 
the  threshold. 

At  this  moment  the  young  servant  appeared  at  the  door,  bearin 
the  pitcher  of  water;  and  he  looked  as  if  he  knew  just  what  it  mean 
when  he  saw  the  pearls  and  reptiles  all  about. 

For  many  days  nothing  was  seen  of  the  young  stranger,  and  poc 
Blanch  grew  quite  pale  and  dispirited.  Adeline  was  in  hi»h  spirit! 
she  ridiculed  Blanch,  teased  and  scolded  her  alllin  a  breath,  and  the 
when  she  wept,  she  laughed,  and  said  she  should  have  the  mor 
jewels  for  her  bridal.  Blanch  disliked  Adeline's  lover  more  an 
more  every  day  ;  for  though  she  thought  he  might  be  rich,  he  seeme 
low-bred  and  vulgar,  and  as  ignorant  as  any  dolt  about.  And  the 
'  he  was  so  loaded  with  finery  he  must  at  the  very  best  be  a  conceite 
coxcomb.  But  as  long  as  her  cousin  was  pleased  she  had  no  righ 
to  say  a  word. 

The  day  for  Adeline's  marriage  arrived,  asd  after  Blanch  ha 
dressed  her  $pusin,  and  done  all  th«  woik  she  could  do,  before  th 
arrival  of  the  guests,  her  aunt  took  her  and  thrust  her  down  into  a: 
old  cellar,  half  filled  with  mire  and  water,  that  she  might  not  be  see; 
by  any  of  the  company. 

Adeline  looked  splendidly,  with  her  proud  beauty,  andmagnificen 
attire.  The  ceremony  was  just  over,  when  they  all  heard  the  souni 
of  carriage  wheels  and  the  trampling  of  horses.  The  bridegroon 
looked  from  th«  window,  and  was  the  first  to  go  out  and  kaeeled  t< 
the  stranger.  All  was  awe  and  amazement.  The  guests  had  jus 
time  to  observe  the  splendor  of  the  carriage,  and  th*  rich  livery  o 
the  servants,  and  the  six  snow-white  steeds,  when  a  gentleman  richli 
dressed  in  velvet  and  cloth  of  gold,  entered  the  room. 

"  Where  is  Blanch  V  he  inquired,  looking  sternly  round. 

"  Blanch  is  dead,"  replied  the  aunt  solemnly. 

"  Dead  1" repeated  the  stranger,  turning  pale,  while  the  bridegroorr 
stared  with  astonishment. 

"  Dead  !"  he  again  repeated,  "  it  cannot  be  ;  ho,  here,  search  th< 
house,"  he  cried  to  his  servants. 

The  bridegroom  would  have  gone  too,  but  Adeline  haughtily  de 
tained  him. 

The  aunt  rose  ia  great  rage.  "  I  demand,  sir,  by  what  right  yoi 
order  my  house  to  be  searched." 

ii.gunimi  mening  naa   over  the  lives  and  property  of  his 
subjects,"  replied  the  stranger  with  great  majesty.     The"  removfng 
he  plumed  cap,  and  velvet  cloak,  the  young  servant  of  the  new  co 
tage  stood  before  them.     Every  head  was  uncovered  a, 


«  Ho w  I  love  you,  Blanch,"  said  Fontana  -'you  must  have  all  you 
desire.  What  shall  I  do  for  you  1" 

"  Smile  upon  me,  dear  Fontana ;  there  is  no  one  else  to  love  me— 
and  when  you  smile  I  am  quite  happy." 

There  was  a  rustling  in  the  bushes— Fontana  had  disappeared  and 
the  youg  servant  stood  beside  her.  ' 

Blanch,   hardly   knowing   what  she  did,   darted  away    but  the 
stranger  seized  her  hand,  and  begged  she  would  stay    mat  stav  fnr 
moment.  r>  J       otcv  lor  a 

J  I.±;oy,The,urndliaypopuy'.?;t  !.'£•££,  TT  *"•  —p. 

love  you,  Blanch,  more  than  I  c.nex P7«J1»  °'°™  >m      ] 

,j&r « fcEixcs MS* j«s-  B'»nch 

tone,  of  his  roico,  ,o  wrought  opon  Lr Venn"  h «,"'  "d  ""  *'""' 


ttZ^^&tt&X&t 

s?±'c±  nUS.;h±Lb^"°'  b-° "™-.  >-"  i 


ZSffSZ npo" her """*  r**5K?if5t«SSSSft 
*BS^t!ffilVJ!!.itt  **- *>  .* 

eyes.  blushed  and  cast  down  her 

"h?S£,,wid  th?  ^  "  •«  the  good  sometimes  rewarded  even 


the  Hatural  tears  of  a  young  and 

™?£"£££A1^*Z  r$in,Wa3  -*<*  ^r  the 
tioB,  the  picther  .f  the  fountain  "  h°me'  ^^ in  htr  "g«a- 

\A/n^n    oka     T, ...... 1. 1    -  i_   .      t 


had 


morning  m,e  proposal, 


lift 


'  the  triumph  of  malice,  for  she  was 


-  —  j~u.   u»vu  uraris — to  the  envv    anH 
torture  more  than  the  fiends  of  darknee's  » 

•«^wKi^3s^ 

^^^^^JSis^^g^ 

~«.,,^  vifg,  and  good 

king  us»d  playfuiiy'to'eaV1  "Th''  ^ects  a'tn°8t  adored  her,  and  the 
from  love  to  hia  wife."  Were  dutiful  subjects  to  him,  only 


>u;i?hCll-Jlis0uder  thilt  *»*S»i 

built  beside  their  old  dwelling 
sent  them  many  proofs  of  h 

-•  UIUUIK-BB  ano  re  m  TH 

END^OF  THE  GEMS  AND  REPTILES 


dl8P°wtion8 

'°  the  COttBS*  be  had 

"* 


Binder 

Gaylord  Bros.,  Inc. 

Makers 

Stockton,  Calif 
PAT.  JAN.  21.  1908 


9556X27 


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